I
rolled the threadbare carpet tight
around
my earthly possessions, my heart –
two
thin blouses, a scarf, a skirt,
all
of rough silk never having touched my skin
everything
else jettisoned
the
desert burning hard
joy
too malleable in this heat
fear
too friable
the
sand’s endless reinventions
of
topography and survival my only comfort
my
thoughts confounded by the sun’s
incessant
risings and settings
I
know myself only
by
the length of my shadow
and
the depth of silk
coiled
in that deep, transitory dark
Susan
Smith Nash
October
14, 2001