Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Molly Fisk: Desolation :: Reservation

Thousands of acres of parched ground. Dead sage,

scattered shacks made from tin and rescued plywood,

burned-out single-wides, pick-ups rusting in place

where their engines stopped. No sign of life

though people live here and there: tire patterns

in the ochre dust, unbroken window with a dingy curtain.

No names for the dirt tracks curling through juniper,

no markers for elevation, population, or tribe,

which is a clue. As if someone threw a handful of dice

with too much force and they rolled off the table.


 

Copyright 2018 Molly Fisk

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One comment on “Molly Fisk: Desolation :: Reservation

  1. luckypupranch
    November 26, 2018

    I call it home. You got it right. Beautiful home and poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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