I met the wilding colors
of Arizona during my first
trip out West. Rooted in
sand, mouth open, I stood
before a cliff-face of brightly
striated colors that changed
as the light shifted, as
shadows purpled. It was
a pallet of flesh tones,
of lights and darks, corals,
browns, beiges, charcoal,
layers upon layers from
cliff botton to top. In the
late afternoon, sun rays
highlighted rock with fire.
It could have been a wall
of burning bush. Moses could
have been there because
it was all biblical—as in
let there be light—and
I reached out, touched
my hand to what was created
on the first day, contemplated
humankind, the way we mirror
the colors of the Chinle,
and thought it was good.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 1.
Lynn DeTurk lives in Central Coast California and Tors Cove, Newfoundland and is graduating from Pacific University’s MFA program in Poetry. She was a finalist in the Steve Kowitt 2022 Poetry Contest, and has work forthcoming in Mudfish.
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