by Kristin Lueke

i’m anxious for the sky again,
for the bone-rich red dust of it,
untumbled gem-wounded & tangled
with sage, tortoise shell underfoot
& everywhere i’ve called home.
for cinnamon at sunset, burning.
coyote calls the mood.

for the peace whose name i knew
the night we laid on our backs
beside the piñon pile—days before
we saw a bullsnake press the breath
out of a woodrat—eyes like satellites,
even me quiet.

Kristin Lueke is a Chicana poet living in northern New Mexico. She is the author of the chapbook (in)different math, published by Dancing Girl Press. Her work’s appeared in HAD, the Acentos Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Hooligan Magazine, the Santa Fe Reporter and elsewhere. You can find her at theanimaleats.com and @klooky on Instagram, if you’d like.