Poetry corner

Driving from Phoenix to San Diego, you find this stretch of Interstate-8. Here’s a poem I wrote on my last trip there:

I-8

Hardscrabble whitegraybrown
dirt like a burned crust, rock and concrete
Scattered shrub and brush, tangled,
hanging in the earth like something forgotten
Only the ocotillo rising higher than groundcover,
many-fingered stretching to the hot, empty sky
I used to think this was the ugliest desert
I was too harsh:
It is beautiful, this green and brown against the dry earth,
this harshness, this survival

©2012 Michelle M. Welch

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