Hiking in solitary through desert mountains,
I enter a stand of human-sized teddy bear cactus,
clustering around me with deceptively plush stems
their arms outstretched, cloaked with dense silvery spines.
I find solace here, wishing I could touch them
to draw upon their vital strength
and know that life endures.
But their barbed claws detach readily,
and cling to flesh with fierce persistence.
They attach to any passing animal,
moving and growing wherever
conditions favor their survival,
much as this new virus spikes human cells,
hitching a ride on droplets,
flaring through our shared spaces,
tearing apart the bonds of humanity.
I tread gingerly through this new social desert,
ever mindful of invisible claws.
Desert plants we have become,
spaced wide apart,
bare soil in between.
Gene Twaronite is a Tucson poet, essayist, and children’s fiction writer. His first poetry collection Trash Picker on Mars (Kelsay Books) was the winner of the 2017 New Mexico-Arizona Book Award for Arizona poetry. Other poetry collections include The Museum of Unwearable Shoes and What the Gargoyle Sees. Follow more of Gene’s writing at his website: thetwaronitezone.com.
Featured image courtesy Gene Twaronite
