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A knot in my kerchief keeps the sweat from my face.

A flask of water keeps dry mouth away.

A staff in hand helps navigate the rocks.

But nothing can keep the solace of purple hills at bay.

.

Here in the west, my heart follows the sun.

I rise at dawn before heat pumps up to flush

and sends prickly pear rosiness to my cheeks

and the air hangs low and spies like a vulture.

.

I know the rocky soil like the wrinkles of a loved one.

Know the places where the red tailed hawk sit.

Watch the canyon wrens scurry from bush to bush

while the city life leaches from inside of my gut.

.

As night sets I'm alone with the sun blaze,

licking the salt from the top of my lips.

No hurry is needed because my day stretches

as big and as starlit as the evening sky.

.

I head West when I've forgotten who are my friends,

strangers speak to me as if I belong with the land.

In the desert plains no one questions

the right to be heard, the right to be loved.

Learn more about this author, Sheri Fresonke Harper.
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