Desert Living

As I sink deeper into the arid years
  of menopause,
I feel my dry, cracked skin
  and cheeks red rough 
    from working in the wind.
I am a walking Sedona;
a scorched
rocky, brown
bleached bone
desert.
A hard packed hot flash.
I am an agave
 growing in an arroyo
    collecting dust and grit
    in the spines of my thick flesh.

but–

I remember my moist youth
  soft, yielding flesh
  damp from swimming.
Sitting in the back seat of your car;
  the sweaty heat rising 
   off my chlorine drenched skin.
Burying my face in your neck
  and inhaling the musky aroma.
The windows foggy from
  our breath.

Oh yes!
I remember the moisture
  of my youth.

I wrote this poem using a prompt from Margo’s Tuesday Tryout on Poetic Counterpoint.  I have to say that I had no idea the poem would end up going the direction it did — not my usual style, that’s for sure!

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16 thoughts on “Desert Living

  1. this is a great poem. I like the way you give us the present then move back into memory …delightful memory. as one of your reader's, I can feel the love-scene in the backseat of the car. nice.the ''foggy windows'' are great particulars…as are so many other visuals: an agave growing in an arroyo. all this provides 'Detail' which is 'Life' to a poem.very good job.thank you for sharing.

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