In La Madera, you find me
late afternoon sun at my back
hips wider than yours, gathering
skulls. We roam red hills:
ocher, orange and purple earth
cracked by hot blowing sand.
A solitary penitent, dark veil
over torso, trudges near us.
Bulky black crosses cover the desert.
You kiss my scars, ghosts of my breasts.
Seven years mortification fall away
evening bells from Ranchos de Taos.
First Published in: _The Wild Goose Poetry Review_ (Summer 2008). Eds. Patricia Kennedy Bostian and Gary Walker.