UNSPOKEN LANGUAGE OF THE VALLEY

Courtney Cliften grew up in a small Nevada town, but has lived in Reno for the past 5 years, graduating from UNR with a degree in both Writing and Political Science. Her poetry has appeared in The Meadow, Brushfire, and An Anthology of Emerging Poets. Courtney tutors writing to college students while she prepares to begin her MFA studies in 2020. 

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UNSPOKEN LANGUAGE OF THE VALLEY

My hands say wait for the rainfall,

bathe in it. My ears say listen

to both sides of the wind, and be fair.

My eyes say orange structures are only beautiful

when nature mixes the color.

The sand says I will feel soft on your feet,

your body, and your feelings. An hour south,

the city says build walls and rooftops, make lights

bright enough that days and nights are the same.

But the desert is quiet, it doesn’t speak,

yet the stars sing and the moon is bright enough

that moths aren’t confused anymore.

People dance to the music of the crickets

and the music of a place that allows two people

to communicate through breath and shared wandering.

The desert is patient, forgiving,

like the smoothing of rocks over time,

or the movement of two people who never touch,

but dance together loud enough it sounds like fire.