April in the High Desert
“The end cracks open with the beginning.”
- D.H. Lawrence
and the silver limbs of the Chinese elms
welcome me to the abundance
of mountains, slate-colored chamiso
and the unexpected universe of the sky.
For weeks, I have tried to answer the call
of the magpie, its blue wing feathers
mocking me with the black & white of things.
I have come to the desert with its dust, thorns
and tumbleweeds to learn how to be soft.
Today I picked up a pebble in my sock
and it punctured the sole of my foot.
On my writing desk, a vase filled
with red roses and parched sage.
What is the magpie telling me,
perched on the rim of its nest?
Buds burgeon with the heat of afternoon.
Once folded in, impudent thistle burrs
tangle my gossamer scarf.
Cottonwood buds clench
their green fists until
the moment of softening.
MARGARET CHULA is the author of fourteen books of poetry, most recently Firefly Lanterns: Twelve Years in Kyoto. Read more.