The Rising Sun

before sunrise
he walked the high desert
under a cool moon
a clear moon
picking orange poppies closed
for the night
to give to his lover—
she will see them
open with the rising sun—
his heart will nearly burst
seeing her widening eyes
sky blue and hungry

Cold War

1959

In the sixth grade
we learned the word oxymoron—
desert forest, freezer burn—
Someone said ‘cold war’
but Mrs. Smith said it would have to be
‘peaceful war’
in order to be an oxymoron.
At least oxymoron was fun to say.

Someone asked why a cold war.
Mrs. Smith said it was because
people who are mad at each other
are not shooting at each other,
“Like a marriage, sometimes.”
“How can there be a war if there’s no shooting?
That doesn’t make sense.  Wait, what?”
She said she knew that…

Another student asked her
if we were going to play
duck and cover like on TV.
Mrs. Smith said duck and cover
was a waste of time—
“We won’t survive the blast.
Besides, we have math and reading to do
(as if Willcox would be a target).”
So we made jokes and shrugged.

Some people stored water and crackers
under their kitchen sinks.
Mom told me and my brothers
not to worry,
“It’s just in case—
everything will be all right.”
“Just in case of what?
Besides, the crackers might go stale.”
“No they won’t. But don’t worry,” she repeated,
“everything will be all right.”
My brothers and I never understood the point.

After a few months Mom dumped the water;
we ate the crackers with cheese.

Everything must have gotten better—