By George Howell

Sex & Death in the Desert

The big female snout beetle plays dead
When I prod her with a stick,
Apoininae-like
As the field guide says,
Her smaller mate laying dead
In the debris collected in the plastic water bottle,
His legs and snout curled
In the rigid repose of death.

Life is fragile here
In the high desert
And even the best intentions
Can lead to regrets.

I found them fucking
In the dirty bird feeder
My wife cut out of a water jug,
Photographed them
And then anchored the bottle
To a creosote bush
For protection.
They couldn’t crawl up
The slippery plastic sides
And the small male died.

In the snapshot,
He is pressed up against
her fertile roundness
just as I might lay against my wife’s hips,
content and ready for sleep.

Even the best of intentions
Can lead to regrets.

I lowered the plastic feeder
And got some coffee.
When I returned,
The big female was gone.

Wonder Valley, 8/27/14

The Hourglass

I

The sun baked

The old metal gasoline can

A rusty brown,

Sand pouring

Out of the punctures

Like an hourglass.

Watch five pounds

Of time

Pouring into the wind

And at the bottom,

Out pops the yellowed twig

Of a lizard spine.

II

I noticed that the pepper tree

Is gone, a tree of life

We planted over Chuck’s ashes,

And the circle where we sat

Remembering our old friend

Is replaced with a swimming pool.

It’ll be 95 today,

And many of us

Who sang and cried and wished

Our friend a good farewell

Will float on our backs

And watch the contrails

Unfurl into wispy

Memories.

Writer and artist George Howell moved to Wonder Valley, a unique desert community outside of Twentynine Palms, California, in December 2013. His articles, reviews and artist interviews have appeared in Art Papers, Sculpture, Raw Vision and other publications.