Desert verbena

I like desert washes because
they have one place to go -
they show a clear path,
and I could follow them for hours
until I find the end I’m chasing
(which I’m sure is just around
the next bend,
within the next mile,
beyond those purple flowers,
at that mountain in the distance.)

I’d consider myself lucky
if I came to a desert wash
on the rare, rained day when
it could carry me away.
I’d lay on my back without hesitation,
skin cracking like hardened mud,
gratefully drinking drops from gray clouds.
I wouldn’t look where I was going -
close my eyes, flood, savor the flow.

What a blessing to ride the torrent,
to float and thrash above the wash,
because, most days, I just kick up sand:
dry, rested, purgatory, still.
Movement elusive except my own
towards the promise of one more bend,
some new view of those purple flowers.

---

Sarah Durrand (they/she) lives in San Diego, California. Their work has appeared in Sad Girl Diaries, Maya's Micros, In Parentheses, Cathexis Northwest Press, and is upcoming in Drunk Monkeys. In their spare time, they enjoy reading, rollerblading, and talking about the birds that visit their bird feeder. Email them at sgdurrand@gmail.com.