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Poem: The Wild Inside By Cynthia Anderson

08/01/2012 08:44PM ● Published by Denise Brown

I know it’s time to clean house

by the grains of decomposed granite 

underfoot. They track in on the soles

of our shoes, then needle our bare feet 

on the tiles. I can’t seem to keep up, 

between that and the leaves and dirt

 from our five-foot potted ficus,

where the cat jumps up and digs in.

The low angle of light makes us all 

feisty, alert. Chimney swept,

firewood delivered, we’re braced

for the onslaught of cold, that great 

clarifier of desert air, our regret 

over summer’s exit etched on our faces, 

another year older as the Mojavehas 

its way with us, weathering 

and shaping us into something that

we weren’t sure we would become

Cynthia Anderson lives in Yucca Valley. Her latest book of poems is In the Mojave, and she is co-editor of A Bird Black As the Sun: California Poets on Crows & Ravens. Both books are available at Rainbow Stew, in Yucca Valley, and online at Amazon.com.

Culture, In Print joshua tree cynthia anderson writers edition poem

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