Poem #5 by Amy Kathryn Allen

The desert wind, a breath both hot and dry, whispered secrets through the brittle creosote. It tugged at the worn leather of Elias’s saddlebags, a constant, restless companion on this lonely stretch of trail. He urged his horse onward, the rhythmic thump of hooves on the packed earth a familiar, if monotonous, sound. The sun beat down, a relentless hammer, turning the very air into a shimmering haze. He squinted, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement, any hint of the riders he was meant to meet, or worse, the shadows that might lie in wait.

Miles melted away, each one a testament to the sheer, unyielding scale of this land. The mountains, jagged teeth against the bleached sky, seemed to mock the puny efforts of man and his machines. Elias felt the familiar ache deep in his bones, a weariness that no amount of rest could truly dispel. He thought of the rider before him, and the rider after, a chain of fleeting contact stretching across this vast emptiness. Each man a solitary flame, burning brightly for a brief moment before being swallowed by the night.

He pulled his bandana higher, the rough fabric scratching against his stubbled chin. The dust, fine as flour, coated everything – his clothes, his horse’s mane, the very air he breathed. It settled into the creases of his face, a permanent testament to the life he led. He imagined the letters he carried, tucked safely within the oilcloth, whispers of news and commerce hurtling across the plains. Would they ever reach their destination? Or would they, like so many before, become another forgotten relic of this unforgiving terrain?