Cindy Buchanan

Moonrise, Baja California Sur

Between the cupped palms of the hills beyond the arroyo,
the moon ascends and casts her pearled light across sand,
cardóns, choyas, torotes, and ocotillos, across the late minutes
of the afternoon until it reaches the final rays of the descending sun.

To stand in the in-between is to stand in awe of the unknown.
I spread my arms, one towards the moon, the other reaching for the sun.
The mind pull of one and the blood heat of the other cleave to me. Briefly,
I am the moon, sun, sky, and every grain of sand upon which I stand.

Cindy Buchanan was raised in Alaska, has a B.A. in English from Gonzaga University, and was a preschool teacher until she retired. She studies poetry at Hugo House in Seattle, Washington where she currently lives, and is a member of two monthly poetry groups. She is an avid runner and hiker and enjoys every opportunity to be outdoors. Her work has been published in The Inflectionist Review, Chestnut Review, Evening Street Review, The MacGuffin, Hole in the Head Review, and other journals. Her first chapbook, Learning to Breathe (Finishing Line Press), will be published in 2023. Find her at cindybuchanan.com