dyeing in the desert with Deb *
In the rugged remove of east Texas, a woman is laying out a clothesline,
arranging jars of creosote and oleander on a cracked patch of earth outside
her kitchen window. The threat of drought is always nipping at the heels
of this particular wilderness, but the tradeoff is the kind of patience art sticks to
like tar, and the wind is waving its hands like policemen do to break up gridlock.
Soon, the line is moving in a dance of sheets and Deb pans the camera out,
and it feels like the desert is, in fact, its opposite, joy populating every available
square inch, even the stoic mountains transfigured in the lap and sway of fabric,
and 2,000 miles away I peer down at my own hands, twitching at the keys,
as if they are hearing that music, too.
This poem is inspired by this video of my friend Deb Taylor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saq1X3MnYGg&t=323s