Phoenix

The Visit

July, Phoenix

            c. a long time ago

I.

                                               

Wednesday, I step from the plane

into heat     I am

in the belly of an old bird

            trying to rise

from flame

She sees me first

and smiles

            the same old toothy grin

We hug, make

mental adjustments

            age enhance memories

fast forward  hair-color  weight  skin

Later, at her house

in the gravel backyard

            I see a Bird of Paradise

blooms  orange  yellow and  red

flowers along a stem

fashioned

of fire

When we talk

I make myself clear

about how we again

can be dear and dear     When I am confused

            I find it helpful

to be very clear     She sits

quietly and seems

            to  listen  think  hear

II.

Next morning, when we walk

I see saguaros

            as tall as telephone poles

She says they cannot

grow arms

until they are 100 years old

            I think, such a long time

to wait for limbs and love

In her refrigerator

she keeps a case of Snapple

            a cornucopia of juice:

mango madness  kiwi lemonaide

tropical punch

The first full day

            I drink five

Friday, we drive to Sedona

where bloodshot rocks rise

from the ground     Windowless castles

            made of trapped sun

and pressed heat

In hushed reverance

we enter the Chapel of the Cross

for the cliff-side view     Monks chant

            on tape     Later, we eat

at Taco Bell

III.

Early Saturday, Williams, AZ

            We ride a steam train north

to the Grand Canyon's

southern rim

with two of her friends

            Beth and Pete

I hold my camera

            forward out the window

and photograph the train

disappearing into juniper and sage

She identifies a cloud

and explains the season

of monsoon rain

            In front of us Beth plays

with Pete's hair

            while he sleeps

The whistle blows

when we arrive at the edge

            where canyon falls off

into canyon and the river

            runs out of sight

at the bottom of thousand-foot walls

While Pete and Beth

eat at Bright Angel Lodge

we walk the rim to Yavapai Point

            in drizzle and mist

Four deer cross our path

            like apparitions

of people we might have been

IV.

Sunday, driving

back to her desert town

            she says this

and this and this and this

            I say, agreed

That evening, she naps

and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps

            and sleeps as if my visit

has made her very tired

I watch a documentary on the Titanic

            in which it sinks

V.

Monday morning, Sun City

            We eat granola and split

the last cold Snapple

            I surprise her

with a flash photo as she walks

through her bedroom door     She appears

            startled like a rare bird

caught off guard

by the camera’s mechanical

            and shuttered desire

           

At the Phoenix airport

            in front of my gate

before I step from dry heat

into the body of a plane

            we  embrace and stop

one moment to lock mental images

in place:  brown hair  green eyes

the curve of a cheek

            the final expression

on the other's face