Death Valley

I sit on the red stone, looking at desolation.
Emptiness as far as I can see; the blue sky harsh against the bleached earth.

I sit on the red stone, watching the emptiness,
But it is not empty in my mind.

It is an ocean, teeming with life,
Supporting its creatures, supporting tribes
Living at the edge.

Living, loving, bearing, dying;
Nurtured by the great water, gone now.
Where? Why?

And the tribe . . . did they leave because the waters were receding,
Or did the waters recede in grief for the tribe?

Emptiness, desolation, grief . . .
Bleached earth and brilliant sky
Red rock; and memories of love and nurture.

Does the mother forget her children,
Before the children forget the mother?

Standing, stiff, stretching,
Seeking to embrace the emptiness I see,
Saying

Here I am; I remember you.
I am your daughter.
Wash me, nourish me, hold me.
I am your daughter.

Mirror the sky, Mother.
Catch the blue in your depths;
Play with the sky;
Play with your children.

But all I hear is the wind,
Blowing across the bleached emptiness,
The sky mocking
Having long since mourned.

I leave the red rock behind me,
Heading for the road, stepping carefully on
Broken baked clay,
A memory; left behind.