I think about lake powell the way I think about the colorado river the way I think about the
california salmon and the mothers trying to save their children in yurok country the way I think
about food deserts and food meccas that in a sense become another kind of desert eating berries
thousands of miles from their vines picked by hands thousands of miles from their loved ones
withering in a fridge tossed in a yogurt and honey bath popping in the mouth like an ovarian cyst.
And when a doctor doesn’t believe pain I begin to see how we find ourselves overwhelmed in
catastrophe.
ivory, fur, feathers
gleamed
her sweaty brow
squints
Wyoming
green
extending
Rocky Mountain
gorge
absence
is the language
of harra hooves
grooving
my feral tongue
would have loved you,
Pleistocene Wyoming.
Amy Bobeda has an MFA from the Jack Kerouac School at Naropa University where directs the writing center, and teaches pedagogy and process-based writing & art. Her books include Red Memory (Flowersong Press, 2022), mi sin manitos (Ethel Press, 2023), and What Bird Are You? (Finishing Line Press, 2023). These poems are from a forthcoming project with Spuyten Duyvil. WEB TWITTER
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