After the rain

I had no desire to go to the desert

Day 1 of National Poetry Month

i had no desire to go
to the desert,
no curiosity for 
its emptiness --
i'd collected city sprawl
data, heard the dry heat 
cracks, lied awake about 
the draining Colorado--
no thank you.
i'll stay home under 
the corn sweat dome
plagued by the 
familiar, by the known,
how easily water 
disappears
into the dirt 
after the rain --

i went to the desert
in April five years ago, 
south of Mesa
halfway between
the two cities:
a town called Big House
after its nearby
Hohokam ruin 
(not the plethora of 
prisons we made here).
even with the crisscross 
I-8 and I-10 
the place remains 
undecorated:
a black peak in the distance,
a movie theatre,
a taco shop,
one main drag
full of snowbirds,
a forsaken outlet mall 
at the edge of town:
corruption left to lie.
every sidewalk and 
road excusing
itself, oh pardon me
to a hey-ho hello 
100+ year old 
saguaros standing sentinel
by the dumpster,
beside the drive thru,
along the row of parked
Tucsons, Tahoes, Santa Fes.

after the rain
which washes the
dirt, cleans the sand,
fills the culverts,
sets the hillsides
alight with cherry pink
purple green carpets,
the quails resume
their chortles, 
strut along the rocky
verge, the gila 
woodpecker laughs 
on its prickly perch.
the day falls, 
dropping her 
pastel garments 
all over the wet floor.
in the desert, 
in the springtime,
i could sip the sunset
for days.

---

NaPoWriMo Prompt: Imagine a day full of bright colors, gentle sounds, and a memory that makes you smile. Let your words flow like a cool river. Believe in your creativity and let it shine!