My husband honks at a Tesla
idling at the green light, but my mind
is in the desert. Georgia O’Keeffe
born in Wisconsin, passed through cities
until the desert claimed her.
If Georgia O’Keeffe could die
in New Mexico, maybe
I—born in Indiana, lived in Alabama—
could also fall into desert flower blooms,
adobe walls, and 300 days
of sunshine a year. For a while,
for a decade, for a lifetime.
For the first time in a while,
the vast, unknowable future
felt exciting and fun again.
The Tesla finally moved,
with a not so friendly wave,
my husband and I were
on our way home again.
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