(From guest writer Sam Olson)
Down from the rimrock,
like the morning Two Moons
routed the U.S. Cavalry,
the day the homesteader
read he’d been drafted
to war with the Axis,
or the ‘37 headlines framed
above the mock dinner
in the rancher’s museum:
Japan Considers Peace Talks
the canyon wren spirals
over the backeddy, the hiss
of my butane stove, and
across the state-line,
at her pirouette’s end,
chirrs suddenly upward.
—Sam Olson
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