Words for the Chisel (collection)/The Desert Remembers Her Reasons

by Genevieve Taggard

The Desert Remembers Her Reasons

How many rivers swerved aside
Rather than take a stony bride!
Rather than take a stony bride
Rivers and rivers swerved aside
And I grew desolate, and died.

At my hot breath they checked their rush
And reared a wave, a head, and hush. . . .
Then fell and fled and would not come
To kiss the color of my loam.

The young bright rivers backed and fought—
And I lay thirsty and unsought.

They married valleys. If I caught
Water in my hand, it seeped. . . .
Rivers around—rain over me—leaped;
I was unwatered and unreaped.
Rather than take me for their bride
Rivers and rivers swerved aside
And I grew desolate, and died.

—(They shook their silver manes and curved
Aside. Aside they swept and swerved
Past my dull grandeur. River droves
Dared do no more than pound their hooves
And skirt my sombre purple. . . . White
Galloping cataracts took to flight.)

Why have I the lustre of stone?
Color of scorn, and scorn's tone
Brood over me. I move beneath
Pale dust with an edged breath.

Sliding under cover of sand
I throttle young rivers with a bold hand.