Rummaging through old sketchbooks (46)
A Studio of One's Own

To the Desert


The little video above, from Metron on Vimeo, has made me homesick for Arizona. . . .

The picture below is of my little painting studio out in the desert behind a house I shared with fellow-writer Ellen Steiber about ten years ago.

I used to have this poem written on the wall:

   To the Desert
by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

I came to you one rainless August night.
You taught me how to live without the rain.
You are thirst and thirst is all I know.
You are sand, wind, sun, and burning sky,
The hottest blue. You blow a breeze and brand
Your breath into my mouth. You reach—then bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
You wrap your name tight around my ribs
And keep me warm. I was born for you.
Above, below, by you, by you surrounded.
I wake to you at dawn. Never break your
Knot. Reach, rise, blow, Sálvame, mi dios,
Trágame, mi tierra. Salva, traga, Break me,
I am bread. I will be the water for your thirst.

GreenSnake copy