There were fifteen of us in a van
filled with desert wind.
The redhead next to me had anxiety attacks
and wanted a baby, now.
I swore I would see Havasupai
before I settled
with yellow flowered wallpaper.
When the van stopped
and all the women squatted
behind sand hills, I couldn’t pee.
We drove into the swollen night
and thought we glimpsed a baby fox
slipping across the road.
Someone sang St. Judy’s Comet,
and told stories of ants and armadillos
while I read Animal Dreams with a flashlight.
Finally, we slept by the canyon cliff.
Near morning I dreamed I fell
through the blood streaked sunrise
into blue-green turtleback water.
When I opened my eyes
I knew she was with me.