West

Long Beach Seawall (2003) by John Scane

Prairie schooners churn onward
towards the waiting dogwoods
stretched out along the Snake River.

Meanwhile, above Vandenberg,
Trails from the rockets reminiscent of
dancing insects in the orange glow.

Out here we are all our own
Prometheuses, molding ourselves
from the rich red earth.

Along the sidewalks laden with stars,
Those too scared to try rub shoulders
with fallen dreamers and poor street cleaners.

The Bad Lands, Furnace Creek,
Hell's Half Acre, The Valley of Fire,
Out here you show some respect.

Abuelitas smack the corn mixture
between their crooked hands
We wait impatiently to eat.

Across town blonde boys fly
upon the surf that sprays
freedom in their faces.

Sitting Bull rises,
and for one moment leads
his people against a doomed cavalry.

In the hills late into the night
while miners drink and fight
With only his pick, Angus works on.

Majesty void of human form
Replaced by the Tetons, Castle Geyser,
Half Dome, Zion, and a canyon so grand
there can be no other name for it.

Every single person
has a flavor, has a melody,
Every single place
has a purpose and a strength,
Every single moment
has a meaning, has perfection.

No wonder the sun chooses
to end up here every day.

09/27/2009