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Molly Fisk USA
Singing Canyon Sonnet
I have to say something about
the blue grasses by the side of the road,
the red rock rising behind
them, a lacy kind of scrub juniper,
yellow-green in afternoon
light, dotted here and there up the broken slope
and walls scraped sheer, the
red striated with bars of gold and brown.
I have to tell how two greasy
ravens startled from their perch
made a raucous noise in the
slot canyon. Their cries bounced upward
magnified by a hundred where
I had just been singing Amazing Grace
and they had not stirred, the
only hymn whose verses I reliably remember.
My boots raised puffs of fine
red dust behind me walking back to the car.
I should mention that the
aspen leaves were thumbnail-sized and vivid,
that anvil clouds quickly
overtook the sun, that before I saw those
thirty-seven
white-tailed deer I was
feeling unbearably lonely and I might as well
confess
how acutely I miss the man I
left at home even though I drove
two thousand miles away from
him to figure out which one of us to love.
(previously published in A Bird Black as The
Sun, California Poets on Crows and Ravens, Green
Poet Press, 10/11)
© Copyright, Molly
Fisk.
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