Remnants
Remnants
Joshua trees give way to cacti, remnants of remembered spring ebbing to parched sand as we steer into a sparse rest area. Signs warn us to watch for bees, desperate for liquid in this space where even flesh on bones feels extravagant. A car pulls out and bees swarm a circle of liquid left behind – coolant or motor oil or perhaps, hopefully, water. Yet it seeps into gravel too quickly to quench even the thirst of these tiny winged things. Bees light on our car, crawl over transparent glass bordering this body from desert. I sip from my water bottle wishing I could push open the door and pour every drop into the ground. I want to revive the waning desert, its only sign of life, water-starved bees. If some prophet’s eyes looked out on this dry stretch, would they see bones no springs of water can slake? Or would they believe even dry bones may revive, form sinew and rise?
About the Poem
This week, I pulled a poem from the “archives.”
This prose piece was published last year by Dos Gatos Press, in their collection Unknotting the Line: The Poetry in Prose.
The poem was inspired by a trip I took with my mom and dad, husband, and three kids through the southwest in the summer of 2016. One of our first stops was Joshua Tree National Park during a particularly dry July.
The 10-day road trip boasted plenty of memorable stops: the Grand Canyon, Carlsbad Caverns, the Tucson Desert Museum, Tombstone, White Sands, Roswell—famed landing site of aliens—and more.
But for some reason, I couldn’t forget those bees flying, crawling, swarming any place that might offer the hope of water. I wanted to see more than the thirst.
I thought of the strange narrative in the Bible where a prophet is carried in a vision to a valley of death, filled with bones of men long perished. He is asked by his lord if the bones can live again.
They go back and forth, question and answer, command and prophecy. The prophet watches as bones come together, forming sinew and flesh, yet the bodies lie lifeless in that vast valley.
And last, breath comes from the four winds and they stand brought to life by ruach—some supernatural wind.
This, then, is hope. That thirst may be quenched and dead things brought to life once more.
beautifully written!
Wow that’s very interesting that the bees were swarming for water! I’ve never heard of such a thing honestly. But so cool to put that experience into words and symbolism! I love your writing style!