Crossing State Lines

Red Earth, Blue Skies © 2013 Bo Mackison

On Sunday, the Second Day

On the day I travel from mountains to plains,
I cross the state line, and sing-song
“Goodbye, Arizona; Hello, New Mexico.”

I keep my place on the map by noting the washes I cross,
Federal highway signs break the monotony of the endless I-system.
Querino Wash, dusty and dry,
Carr Lake Wash, dusty and dry.
Meandering water gives the Little Colorado River’s name veracity.
Rivers most commonly run dry in the Southwest
and imagination replaces river-water.

I turn north, follow the Trail of the Ancients, Navajo Nation,
Cinder block homes and sweat lodges. Horses stand in the shade of ramadas.
Winds blow fierce, flying dust covers the road,
I steer my car by the tracks of the pick-up truck ahead
and rocks rise in mystery from a nothingness, silhouettes in swirling dust.

Near Shiprock, NM – yes, a rock clipper ship rises from the plateau –
a wailing dog circles its dead companion rigid on the roadside,
nudges the head matted with dark stained dirt.

Briefly I think of Sunday School Bible verse contests,

“For you were made from dust, and to dust you shall return,”
but I prefer the astronomer’s explanation –
“You are star-dust, the heart of the star.”

Towards evening I reach Four Corners, a geographical nameplace
Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, Colorado touch with 90˚ precision,
An accuracy of borders esteemed by politicians and mapmakers.

I choose to pass the concrete historical marker
and the surrounding neon-lit gift shops,
intent, instead, on reaching my destination before nightfall.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. A cross-country traveler by day, and an occasional poet, — this is a poem in nine parts, because the trip lasts nine days. Day One is here.