poem for January 6

Cherry Cider

I parked under a sterile pecan in the lot of a broken wood gas station that owned the intersection between Socorro and Carrizozo

My right hand hurt from shifting past sun cast spruce deer lurch wandering slow motion rain dance

Two sweaty sugar boys teetered from my van legs still dreaming broke the air ran into dust storm store where truck men stood at plywood counter counting smoke money

I followed ricochet lizard steps aching from three hundred sepia miles under still sun too high to touch

A pockmarked styrofoam cooler filled with ice blocks and old plastic milk gallons propped open the door in sweet welcome

My oldest boy reached in to touch ice rubbed blotch water hands across forehead under piano hairline scar marking the end of my marriage

I chose a jug counted quarters and nickels under a stained Virgin of Guadalupe tipped mouth to mine let cool red rush warm my hot tongue

Near silence, no birds, just panting children and slow exhale of torn-shirt man back against bad stucco eyes on me my raspy van the leaden horizon

My boys sat on dented hood shared red sips under sparse shade and we watched a war torn dog spray hot shadows against gold crust dirt