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Cynthia Anderson (3 poems)

Pilgrimage

At the beach house, a weathered pillar of wind and salt,

I’m the woman across the table from an empty chair,

the only one there, an acolyte of the bloody new moon,

 

tracking its lack of light across broad swaths of sand.

Each day I walk the labyrinth of the dunes, losing

then finding my way, epiphanies of rapture and grief.

 

The one shell I find, broken, seems to hold the echo

of a scream—at least, that’s what I hear when I press it

to my ear. I quickly throw it back, watch the flood tide

 

tumble it away like it never existed. That’s when

I know my exile is over—time to return to the land

of my birth, that inland empire of rustling leaves.

What Will It Take

Awake again—

these long night hours

crawl on their knees

towards an unseen oasis

 

under a full moon

bright as crystal.

That savage light

casts shadows

 

sharp enough to tear,

to sever—there’s

no place for soft flesh

in this landscape.

 

Thrashing the bed,

thirsting for calm,

I find, instead,

the rack—a mass

 

of high, thick,

fast-moving clouds.

I need voices

other than my own

 

to tell me—

what will it take

to find a way out

of this desert?

A Long Goodbye

Winter came more suddenly

            than earth.

 

You were accustomed

            to the ground beneath

 

your feet—so familiar,

            as though it would last

 

forever, with you ranging

            upon it—

 

then this hard freeze,

            this bleak cold

 

that shut your eyes

            and stopped you

 

in mid-stride. Shorn of hope,

            you mourn the frailty

 

of your own form passing

            into the dark

 

to be remade. A rarefied

            air surrounds you,

 

prelude to decay—

            enough to nurture

 

the hurt of not existing.

            Unmoving, you wait

 

for the thaw—in your own

            time, on your own

 

terms, you dissolve

            and fall as snow.

Cynthia Anderson lives in the Mojave Desert near Joshua Tree National Park. Her poems have appeared in journals such as Spillway, Crab Orchard Review, Apercus Quarterly, Askew, San Pedro River Review, Mojave River Review, The Coil, and Split Rock Review. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. She is the author of seven poetry collections and co-editor of the anthology A Bird Black As the Sun: California Poets on Crows & Ravens. www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com

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