Approaching Las Cruces
Jagged Organs rise above the horizon
thrusting new mountains,
while older nipple shaped hills surround me
once this valley's smoldering craters
now worn and shrunken to matriarchal fencing.
A message is scrawled across a gigantic billboard:
Yes, this must have been one helluva sulfurous and
explosive place in the era of the Pleistocene.
Next on the right
a high tower culminates with a yellow egg
fertile with water, I suppose,
and labeled like New Mexico's "Zia" flag
a native American glyph: four is a sacred number repeated in the four points radiating from the circle:
north/south, east/west-- childhood, youth, adulthood and old age.
Followed by dual ironies:
Rolling down the window and opening 100degree portal to smell heated scented mesquite and sage
I pass the Alaska Structure company (they make Hershey shaped tents)
and stylishly southwestern block buildings, state prisons
both passing on my right.
then I crest a hill and looks down on the valley beneath the spires of the Organ Mountains, a green carpet of humanity.
mothers, fathers, sons, daughters--and in 15 minutes,
one more grandparent.
Like geology they thrust forth
and wear down--
Another billboard: "Excellence in Vein Treatment"
followed by a bridge over the artery of the Rio Grande, a sometimes river--flowing and receding,
full now, dry later.
Two boards, connected just beyond the middle in opposing directions, create a cross.
The fourfold structure, a newer culture's "Zia"
Reminders of Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter;
four seasons to a life.
There's an intersection ahead
and I'm slowing down.
Las Cruces, New Mexico, June 1st, 2014
(inspired by Noah and Lucas--you guys rock my world!)