Three Poems


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
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


old steel drops onto a desert

bloom in Mojave                

dot    dry     land         over

five hours, after
nine hours

        green     sun/red



was conducted, was

spot below this spot, hereby    
rust, or lush or

note this into

might be     expected, was

conducted, was


excavation— it

always summer,

it drillable holes, it imagine

lavender and no

summer or was your last




against your finger

ten feet into grass

lines erase


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.