By Reia Li
We leave Kaibab National Forest
I feel relief, surprising relief,
under the arc of blue.
I’ve left behind
the polyester couch
of the hotel room,
the panicked arguments about where to go
(I’ll come back someday to hike Havasu Falls).
As we drive,
streams through the prairie grass
on the side of the road,
filters through the spiky branches of the junipers,
and travels on.
There is a certain frame of mind, which, when it chooses to visit me, makes me feel like every single little thing in the world has poetry: poetry in movement, poetry in stillness, poetry in the simple act of existing. I love finding these pockets of inspiration that allow me to capture an ordinary occurrence in a poem.