Ode to the Deserted
iriana nimnualrata
I look around and see
the sun melting on
the desert in front of me.
Syrup drizzles and glistens
on the bushes as the night approaches.
There’s no one here to listen.
There’s no one here but me.
How I love these moments
of silence and calm.
Away from the people and cars.
And the thoughts that never
go away, unless I’m outside
with my feet on the glittery sand.
It’s heat is sometimes heavy
and dryness sometimes lonely,
but the sights are always lovely.
Especially when the sun begins to set—
apart my dreams and fears.
At night, the desert grows cold
but like a cobija,
it engulfs me yet so.
The grillos coo me.
They sort me out
and stop my brain from
exploding like a piñata.
Without it, my brains would
scatter on the floor like candy.
Rocaletas and masapanes—
whatever you wanna call it.
Hungry hands would keep
reaching through the scraps
leaving only the shell of the mâché
that used to be apart of me.
That is why I know the deserted
desert loves me.
It stops this from happening.
It lets me roam it and hold it.
It grounds me.
In my palms, rocks make their way home.
They remind me of the place that surrounds me.
The place I grew up in.
The place that I can rely on,
the place that has become a part of my me.
Iriana Nimnualrata is an undergraduate at the University of Texas El Paso where she's been developing her skills as a writer. She grew up in the bordering cities of El Paso and Ciudad Juarez which has influenced her approach in writing and way of life.
