The loneliest feeling, she said on a day
when the sky was clear, is watching an airplane
and in the middle of Valentine Texas
a single machine mends
cracks splinter form
while buzzards string
red remains over gravel lanes.
Before, she created still-life with oil paint
and after she drank while wrinkles set.
The horizon is only purple mountains and lone
windmills, when desolation surrounds
will it eventually
A pecan orchard sits heavy on this desert land,
if it is pollution that makes the sky
shades of pink
then I want that inside my lungs.
All dirt trails branch like veins into strangers
homes. We will finish alone.
If creeks ever existed atop this sand
then each left with the Mexican wolves.
Her spine fell westward
with her mind
and she forgot our names,
we try to reconcile our anger.
Cacti survive droughts
then burst fuchsia flowers,
what a hope,
could anyone do any better?
Amanda North grew up in El Paso and currently lives in Austin, Texas. Her poems have been published in The Learned Pig and Yew Journal. She was a scholar at the 2014 Poetry at Round Top festival and is currently seeking publication for her first collection, We Are All Mad Here. She teaches in the English Department at Texas State University where she also received her MFA.