We went to the river nearly every full moon, kids out and lost together, hot summer nights in West Texas. Bonfires glowed along the river's edge in Socorro as we looked to Isleta and Fabens, our views through pecans and bends grinding our thoughts along the border. I rode Calamity Jane there, wind or rain, sand or tumbleweeds, or heavy monsoons, (which I secretly loved while frightening my mother as I arrived home, soaked amid lightening strikes so strong the hawks I loved hid under the corral's metal roof.) Friendship was priceless, it was all we could afford. Free dips in the water's edge, gathered sage to scent mesquite from the hillsides, stones petrified from the dry desert air circling the flames of our future.
This partially autobiographical poem was written during a writing workshop at the Lazy Black Bear Farm (Paoli, Indiana), led by Catherine Bowman from Indiana University's Center for Rural Engagement. Guiding us through images from our childhoods and the elements, we used our personal words to create. My images were my horse, Calamity Jane, and my walking down the dirt road I lived on off Montana Ave. in El Paso through dust storms. (The first home I lived in while attending Socorro High School.) My elements were the Rio Grande River (water), a hawk (air), petrified wood (earth), and memories of bonfires in the dry washes (fire.)