The Earth is a Corpse and We are Her Daughters

Our version of the West was always parking lots.
Taking southern red sands, concreting them
into a wide desert coffin. We are kids, small
stupid children stomping on our mothers womb.
Pray to this graveyard, to the bodies buried here.
Its headstone skin rediscovers itself each morning
with less room for the mourning mojave safe,
fading pink butterfly mint, broken buckwheat salting
her flesh. One day she will swallow our acts of refusal.
She has always deserved our tending,
and instead we have loved the shovel and backhoe.
Unstitching roots from the snaking gravel,
now warm blooded baking under a jealous sun.
We are taking so much with us.
Pray to this, our death. How do we hold
a wake for the life that will outlive us?

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Taylor Franson-Thiel is a Pushcart and Best of the Net nominated poet from Utah, now based in Fairfax, Virginia. She received her Master’s in creative writing from USU and is pursuing an MFA at George Mason University. Her debut collection, “Bone Valley Hymnal” is forthcoming in 2025 from ELJ Editions. She is an editorial reader for Poetry Daily, the Assistant Poetry Editor for phoebe and the EIC of BRAWL. She can be found on Twitter @TaylorFranson and at taylorfranson-thiel.com