Oh yes! It’s spring and
the valley’s lush with lovely greens
of every shape and shade
That magpie’s found
his longed-for mate
They’ve claimed the tallest branch
of that crooked tree
sharing with last year’s ravens
peacefully
The mourning doves gather
in gentle
melodic choirs
And the redrock wall stands guard
over the tenderness
of the valley
of birds
This is what I see
on April mornings
but my peripheral vision
displays a darker scene
When I shift my eyes to focus
it shifts to the periphery again
Be not deceived
It’s always there
Mingled with pestilence
plague
wars and rumors of wars
I hear the shouts of those
who worship
malevolent
jealous and
vengeful gods
Their insatiate greed
vindictive self-righteous
rages
reflect their beliefs
and adoration
and their rampant rages
resurrect
our visions of ancient terror
Nighttime
No sun to brush
the tops of trees
No redrock wall
Birds silent
Then come
dreaded sights and sounds
Horses racing around
within my head
and I am drenched in night sweats
Listen! Do you hear the horses?
Two have passed
the third is passing
The fourth
that pale horse
radioactive
is upon us
The trees
green leaves shrivel
birds drop
Our home
our desert
sweet waters
desecrated
Red rocks can’t weep
and no one’s left
The earth itself
of hope bereft
is dying
Barbara Romney Galler lives in Moab and considers the landscape here to be her spiritual home. She spends the time she has left writing, sharing her work with others, and attempting to find new and more effective avenues of activism.
