Dear Singing Saguaro

The dew glistens on the corn in a sunburst
along a quiet country road, and I think of you
embracing the Tucson morning
as cars sped past, your mouth wide
to relish the crisp, dry air; I watched
tongue-tied, your expression shifting
as a shadow prowled like a black cat
around your feet. Here, the air
is tangible, heavy and woolen
as a monk’s robe. While you stand
in a land of red clay, ours is gray,
like the mockingbird that parodies
your silent song, like the night owl
calling retreat from the trees.

Inspired by a #paintchip prompt.

This is not the first time I’ve written to something inanimate. When I thought I’d live in Arizona forever, I wrote a break-up letter to Virginia soil. Now that we’re back, seeing the tall corn makes me miss the saguaros.

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