by Michelle Peñaloza

Crows feed on unmet seed; the gophers track sink holes
all the way to your front door. Unintentional moat--
keeping what out, keeping what in?
The history of greed still draws its lines in this valley.
The West not won. Stolen. Every day
is a truck driving through an ancient forest
knocking down trees that take 400 years to grow.
The land—does it find all of this violence blasé?
Been there, still here? Is that how my mother feels
when I call her, angry about the world?
I get it. She’s a survivor. A master of alignment.
Better: the lines she knows than ones she could never draw.
Every day is a truck driving through an emptying field.
Blood is the compost that makes this grass grow so tall.

Last updated December 17, 2022