This Earth is Your Home
by ROB SPIEGEL
If the store is crowded, take shelter
in the bosque among the damp beaver dams.
Say the prayer of the cottonwood that splits
and falls. Burn the night fire with coyotes.
If the morning birds go silent, find the
deepest room and close your windows.
Eat dried fruit and vegetable juice, make your
plans in silence, tracing the dark corners home.
When you find the last bee, eat the flower petals
slowly. They will feed your blood for the long
winter. Gather your dogs and go to the mountains.
Find the caves that host an open fire.
This earth is your home. Suck deep its ancient water.
It wants your skin back. It wants your bones.
ROB SPIEGEL is a freelance journalist living in New Mexico. He writes poetry and fiction
and has been published in such diverse magazines as Rolling Stone, Automation World
and True Confessions.