Magma

Three sisters

Sit in judgment-

Darkly, mutely on the mesa,

Apportioned their appointed part

In the cosmic monotony.

.

A man is shot dead

On ancestral lands (now

“Ran” by the national park

service) praying to

The four directions, hand

On his chest & over

The heart. Belligerent

At the command to leave,

Maybe, but O,

Why not?

.

Three sisters

Their anger ancient,

Volcanic, a memory of heat,

Magma, and unearthly desire.

The ground around

Is soaked in blood, but

Who owes who?

And what?

.

Cacti grow

In the cracks

Of black rocks,

Spray bright red flowers

To the sky

In a flood of camaraderie

With the dead, gone.

Nick DePascal is a poet and high school teacher in Albuquerque.