by Maxwell Redder
A Journey to Discover what I Already Know
Driving North America’s main arteries,
I nod to Hudgins’ Cadillac in the Attic
while snapping a shutter, amused
that the attic car will never visit
Cadillac Ranch; I nod to Amarillo.
Airplane window. Vast lines:
canyons, roads, and rivers;
the Earth’s nervous system
connected like the soft breath
of an infant to her mother.
Flashback: mountains dusted
in wildflower, melted snow
springs massage moss stretching
after hibernation, air which cures
ails. A new home.
Cherubs of the Wild Okanagan
We consist of me, in a tickling quandary,
and four women refusing silence,
periodically expecting my attentiveness.
We consist of smile muscles quivering,
expressing truths like crystal in shaky
hands, prepared to shatter like shrapnel —
each shard reflecting our brilliant prisms.
Colors gallivanting with wind, thrashing
like dancers translating sunbursts
while thoughtful gusts lift prayer flags.
The sharp mountain nose breaks
rain just tight enough to miss
us relaxing on modern red canvas chairs,
us, swirling pinots like cherubs
of the wild Okanagan.
Ripple reflections are flashing
white worms. Night has fully consumed.
Brilliance is kneading clay
before firing, preventing the final product
from exploding. Brilliance is knowing
when to go home.