TWO POEMS FROM ELKO
WRITER IN RESIDENCE
Words come like cattle into hay
from over the hill, out of the blue
chemise and manzanita drawn
down the length of dusty backs
almost always glad to see me.
Good alfalfa helps, but a man
moves among them like dancing,
locates his grace with deliberate steps
in bovine time, and he speaks
endearingly, a familiar voice
as they find comfort in a line.
When they are hungry,
I write like Bukowski, a frenzied
stampede bucking and kicking
the hard truth loose, words
that can hurt when they connect –
seldom safe to walk among
until the feeding’s done.
Visiting their feral households,
they are mostly curious –
bringing calves and checking-in
to see what I’m about.
for Joel & Gail
STOCKMAN’S 2009
Up the steep stairs
she rears back and pulls
the harp’s neck to her
like a bareback rider’s
deep seat
between her legs
before the nod.
She craves it –
flying fingered wings
plucking strings, spurring
Gaelic words that stir
the flesh. They are one –
her mane shook loose,
head thrown back in ecstasy,
she sings to the ceiling –
to heavens beyond
with brazen abandon
and we are moved
to a worn out bed
to make love.
for Keri Lynn