Edifice

A diminished tuft of tamarisk,
sap like honey bread,
a few pink flowers,
foliage serpentine and spare,
rises out of granite
and taps at my eyes
like twin blue stars
or Death’s young wife.

I found a gourd
in my pocket.
I’m tired of circles.
I want to see a pyramid.

Rock, rock, and growth,
not like a planet with a cycle.
A decade’s worth of hair.

This year, the rain has chosen
gaudy colors for the desert,
but that slight gray sprig of tamarisk
pursues me like a hound.

____

Charles Haddox lives in El Paso, Texas, on the U.S.-Mexico border, and he has family roots in both countries. His poetry has appeared in a number of journals including Birdcoat Quarterly, Volume Poetry, and Vita Poetica.