Three Poems
STACY KIDD
Desert Poem ONE
The loneliest road defeats its ranking. Who knows it who
hallelujahs thick air. Thicket of
green air, red air
mountains won’t movie you, little
man. That’s love,
that’s old steel, what
power
towers, flat land & each
able engineer we’ve known to bits— Josiah, two
trinkets, still
reel, what
crosses Texas in a low-slung solar car or
vexes next— here’s that
piece of us,
our eggy hunk. Josiah,
we hate or think we should hate
all of Amarillo.
Straw Man
Don’t watch the sun, don’t listen
to nothing. Today
is not a day to nestle, to wait
a sky & forecast
our fingers as gentle. Yes,
our eyes can burn out.
Yes, your ears can forget how to.
Desert Poem THREE
1.
old steel drops onto a desert
bloom in Mojave
dot dry land over
five hours, after
nine hours
green sun/red
mountains
2.
was conducted, was
spot below this spot, hereby
rust, or lush or
note this into
yield
might be expected, was
conducted, was
3.
excavation— it
always summer,
it drillable holes, it imagine
lavender and no
summer or was your last
4.
sound
like
almost
against your finger
ten feet into grass
lines erase
sky—
Stacy Kidd is a student in the PhD Program in literature and creative writing at the University of Utah and Poetry Editor for Quarterly West. Her poems have appeared recently or are forthcoming in Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art, CutBank, The Journal, and WITNESS.