I wandered the world searching

only to find my heart

was always buried in this desert

where I was born.


I didn’t need champagne. I needed dirt.

I didn’t need mansions. I needed trees.

I didn’t need money. I needed the moon.

I didn’t need parties. I needed prickly pear fruit

purple, tart, infesting my tongue with barbs,

and even the impaling feels like heaven.


I didn’t need a million lovers. I needed one perfect soul.

Yours. It comes to me now, gliding over stones

like the tongue of the wind. It licks me

from top to toenails. I bask in the glory

of your spirit saliva, laughing at how crazy

it sounds when I write it down like that.


How did I imagine space and time could ever steal our love?

What was I thinking anyway, pretending to be like them?

Why would a wild woman like me ever want this world’s safe version of sane?

What did I mean when I said I was poor?

Didn’t I know my bones were encrusted with pearls of truth?

Didn’t I see every jewel in the sky was mine?


My fingers dig in, marrying the soil.

I baptize me in desert stones.


Dear world, a confession: I have always been my father’s daughter.

I have always seen visions.

I have always dreamed dreams.

I have always heard the voices of angels in the breeze.


Dear world, a revelation: It is always Christmas if you take the time to notice.

The pines dangle with cones full of pinon nuts, red birds, moonlight tinsel.

The wind sings of the birth of redemption.

The mountains glitter with strings of stars.

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