April 6, 2014

Sarah Brown Weitzman


Bare as a page
the straight road ahead
scrub brush alongside
patches of cracked ground
drying to dust.
Nothing fertile for miles
of arid thinking.
Days of this same terrain
up the Baja.
Weeks of this notebook
on my lap
blank as the land.
The border tonight
and customs.
Nothing to declare.

—from Rattle #14, Winter 2000

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