#115 Smoke Screens by Pamela Yenser

Heartbreaking mornings
cry out from the throats of trees
darkened by snow melt.

Sandia Mountain
turns to watermelon pink
and spring turns to dust

in torrents, tearing
parched cottonwoods limb from limb.
Red moon, soil, sun, me.

Arizona burns
across our western border
and down our gullets.

Pamela Yenser once lived in Roswell, where her father, a retired Army pilot, flew her over the crash site of the “flying disc” associated with the so-called Roswell Flying Saucer Incident. Her family moved away in 1949, but she returned sixty years later to teach and write in Albuquerque.


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