Big Bend National Park
Says No to All Walls

Big Bend has been here, been here.

Shouldn’t it have a say?

Call the mountains a wall if you must,

(the river has never been a wall),

leavened air soaking equally into all,

could this be the home

we ache for? Silent light bathing cliff faces,

dunes altering

in darkness, stones speaking low to one another,

border secrets,

notes so rooted you may never be lonely

the same ways again.

Big bend in thinking—why did you dream

you needed so much?

Water, one small pack. Once I lay on my back

on a concrete table

the whole day and read a book.

A whole book and it was long.

The day I continue to feast on.

Stones sifting a gospel of patience and dust,

no one exalted beyond a perfect parched cliff,

no one waiting for anything you do or don’t do.

Santa Elena, South Rim, once a woman here knew

what everything was named for. Hallie Stillwell,

brimming with stories, her hat still snaps in the wind.

You will not find a prime minister in Big Bend,

a president or even a candidate, beyond the lion,

the javelina, the eagle lighting on its nest.