Heart of the High Desert

Stretched out here on this bunk
my mind drifts and dreams
within itself
searching for a poem.

Ocean winds,
gentle breezes
find their way through the bars.
Through the bars
a sparrow sings
and it’s mellifluous melody
is all about love.

Ninety degrees hotter
I’d be warm.

The wildflower takes its
first breath of air
after a generous rainfall…

I grew up in the Mojave
in a small town
in the heart of the high desert.
The only place I’d been
till they brought me here.
I’d stand on Crocks Street
and look at the mountains that surrounded me.
They appeared to be the whole world.
How naive was I.

I was nineteen when I got busted.
That same day
I’d signed up for the Marines.
Wanted to see the world.

They kept me in a cell
on the corner
off to myself.
The City Jail’s across from the high school
and I couldn’t see
but I heard the sounds of the games
those football games I’d gone to
my whole life in that town.

My nephew wrote me a letter
first time in the ten years I’ve been here.
He wrote he remembers
I taught him to drive,
to whistle.
He remembers us washing my car.
He wrote: ”Dear Uncle Stanley.”

Stinging memories that had been lost.
Sadness of the heart.
Frowns of the face.

Every wrinkle on my face
is but a harbinger
of joy fighting
to overtake the sadness
of the heart…

Aus: Spoon Jackson: Longer Ago. 2010 (Lulu)

Spoon Jackson   09.04.2012