The Painted Desert by Norma Sadler
Color it blue sky
Long after a pale yellow sunrise.
Shades of sage green on a rocky plateau.
Next to dotted stripes of highway,
The desert met Johnny and Meg.
Lava rock pressed against white tennis shoes.
They wove through the sage.
Johnny carried the basket.
"It's barren," Meg said.
"It's what you said you wanted though," Johnny said,
"for a special lunch."
A blue and white checked tablecloth fanned out
Over sand and rocks. Wine glasses and Zinfandel.
Rubies sparkling in the fall sun.
With a flourish, Johnny pulled out a pocket knife,
And a can of smoked oysters.
White napkins, anchored by oranges,
Lifted corners to a desert breeze.
Meg's hair swept away from her face.
"It's windier than I thought it would be."
Johnny nodded quickly.
"Should we eat in the car?
It's not that far."
"No, the air is soft." Meg felt it glide
Across her skin.
Slightly cool, the wind held the scent of sage,
Horses dragging the heavy creak of wagons,
Women brushing dust from long dresses,
Children sunburned in sunbonnets,
Their lips cracked, thirsty,
Wanting to be there already.
Through the haze, Meg saw
Nez Perce climb higher, weaving
Toward some unknown hunting ground,
Their painted ponies following trails
That faded into the sky.
Smoked oysters on crackers for two.
The wine went down easily.
Johnny and Meg made small talk,
Picking dust from the cheese.
The wind died down, bringing up the heat.
Now Johnny wanted to go back.
"It's getting hot," he said.
"I like the heat," Meg said.
But Johnny was folding the tablecloth,
Wine-stained. "We'll come back."
He carried the basket, lighter now.
Meg rearranged the desert,
Smoothing it back into place.
"Let's sit on that rock for a minute."
They sat in the quiet.
Johnny faced first one way, then another.
""This must have been the way it was back then."
They looked down
At their white running shoes.
Johnny pressed his shoe into the sand.
Meg placed her smaller shoe inside his print.
She squinted at the distant mountains.
Shadow figures shimmered in the heat.
A lizard scurried between rocks
To the shade of a small bush.
Johnny and Meg drifted to their car,
That stood too white,
Too bright now
For even the desert sun.
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