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Job describes a saguaro

Talking Tumamoc Trash

Three poems by Russell Long

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Three poems by Russell Long



I have come to the desert

to bathe my wounded soul

in the green musk of creosote

after a summer rain, in the

blind heat of a yellow sun,

in the red blood of

the barrel cactus flower,

in the white salve of

the saguaro blossom


there is a space

between the mind and body

called God, older than water,

filled with the rust of iron hinges

on native stone walls,

the feathers of a cardinal,

cholla lace, tortoise shell,

the foot of a cottontail, the

howl of a coyote,

the healing sound of desert stars


rain, fine fingers of

unfamiliar desert glass,

"chubasco" it is called

in this Mexican flavored cocktail

of lightning and thunder,

more dangerous than

the diamondback's fangs,

more soothing than aloe vera,

as precious as truth