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| missy kizer |  | 1. Hartman’s Rocks If I were a mountain lion I’d live here; quiet, protected from west wind plenty of hiding places deer sign abundant, antelope across the road, enough pine and juniper for shade, a gully that holds water. I would climb to the top survey 360 degrees, feel the wind feather my fur, listen for human approach, flick my tail, ease between rock, and lie in the shade, unconcerned. Instead, I dream and trudge uphill, break twigs and crumble shale, stop to breathe, pat the dog, march on, sweat into my clothes stop, listen to my exhalation find soft ground, sit below the cliffs, and look up, jealous of the cat that may be watching. 2. No Longer Eleven On his birthday He sits comfortable hat pulled low, ears pinched outward. He trails the herd pushing stragglers with his voice clutching the saddle horn as they confront another deserter. The steer pressed impatiently to river edge, plunges unwilling across the wet divide. His horse steps, easing each hoof between tumbling water and rock guiding it belly deep. With soggy boots and one wet bead slipping from his brow, he emerges newly baptized through the stone crumbled bank between wild rose tangles. Finally fit for duty he pats the neck of the roan twists to see his past no longer a boy – but a man. | |
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