Chaco Canyon

by Elizabeth Hykes
 
Drummers pound sound down the ancient palisade
behind the busy market announcing arrival
of persons of stature bearing high quality goods
or perhaps they drum in a time of spirits.
A sun-browned hand raises the beater high
then bangs it down and the feet of all the shoppers,
of all the merchants tap, and their shoulders rise
in unison one with the sound.
Reds and golds, browns and greens of woven blankets
Brighten the breeze as we
turn our heads just enough
for air to move our hair back and kiss our ears.
We shade our eyes with our hands as we look
across the fields along the road to mysterious places
we have only heard about from travelers.
There, way off in the distance is something large, shiny,
fast, followed closely by a huge, roiling cloud.
No animal pulls the odd contraption.
As the shiny thing approaches, Sun seems to grow,
Seems to scar all-that-is with flames.
Overheated, we watch the apparition get too, too close
then slowly disappear as the signal pulse
crescendo echoes down the rocky palisades.