by Megan Stoddard

Created on: November 17, 2009

Crossing the state line
you feel it. Somewhere
on the journey the earth turns
from Arizona red to yellow,
and every other sign announces a pueblo,
and magic is in the air.

Go north,
to where the people
have not lost their magic.

Each town guarded by ghosts,
like vigilant watchdogs. The language,
colonial Spanish mixed with English
and a few other tongues.

I went down to the church,
El Santuario. I did not know
it was built on sacred ground,
but I could feel the tingling in the air,
and a call for ritual. If I only knew
how to cross myself, how to use
the holy water.

A bumper sticker on a car
depicted a mushroom cloud,
and the words, "We started it here,
We must end it here."

The magic of the land
has been used in many ways
good and evil. In the desert
lies shiny green glass,
sand fused by the atom bomb.

Crossing the state line again,
A bright red sun reaching to the four directions
Waves goodbye. The sign says,
"You are leaving New Mexico,
Land of Enchantment."

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