CACTUS FRUIT

by Mather Schneider

Sunburned from sleeping all day on the berme
I wake with a thirst
like a chili plant after a hundred
days without rain.
I pull my feet out of the scorpion sand and
pluck an open pitaya from the sagging
bloody end
of a cactus spike-
the fruit red like the guts
of a summer bat
on my face and lips
black seeds crackling between my teeth
like the fried eyes
of grasshoppers.
I walk up the hill to see where I
am
and look out at the desert always
bigger than you think
and smaller too.
Miles and miles of crimson
hills and yellow rock
a thousand green saguaros like guards
whose feet have grown into
the ground
whose minds have gone mad
with duty
and whose arms reach up
to the lone hawk against
the sunset.
I hitch my pants and
slide down the hill
and begin the slow march
towards the strange
twinkling
in the distance.