ROWAN WALLER

sway

after Ada Limon’s letter in poem form to Natalie Diaz, of the same name 

since last we spoke 
I’ve been better 
fewer dreams 
about the creatures with hurtful hands 
in the nighttime 
fewer dreams 
about falling and 
hitting something, hard 
I tried sleeping 
with the door unlocked again 
the familiar scratch 
of tumbleweed at my stoop 
startles me less and less 
as does the clatter of elder bugs 
raining from the lamps outside 
like a monsoon season storm 
I’m home in the southwest now 
one of the few places 
my body feels at ease 
it’s far from the mountains 
that bookend our continent 
to the north and south their 
jagged grey stones I once 
believed I could resent 
there’s this hunger in me 
a need to hold myself firmly 
to something of the earth itself 
substantial and terrestrial 
more stone than skin 
I need to tether myself 
to this loam and red dirt 
make true the promises 
I ground myself in 
call closer attention to the bits of dust 
between my toes because 
it means I am still living
last week I dug a hole in the yard to see
what color this particular plot was the
one where I live now 
with three other wild and wise women 
I found a bunch of red worms 
wriggling easily in the soft pink topsoil 
I let them be – red like my rage 
the red of this desert – my racing heart, too 
small beasts squirming 
under the weight of fresh air 
all my little red ones

Rowan Waller (she/her) is based in Durango, CO and works as a rock climbing guide and educator. She works with groups of all ages to improve access to the outdoors and create safe places for future generations to express themselves. When she isn’t climbing, she can be found writing, reading, crafting, or dreaming up new places to travel to (@rowan_beth, on Instagram)