Gwen Ebert’s poems register the impact of the desert, and the freedoms it unleashes, on tradition and the desire for rootedness. She scours the landscape for signs, and is met with the innocent wildness of animals: “... see the kestril, // the sparrow hawk, a quick swoop of shadow. / If we could, we would cross ourselves like that, // like something unexpected: / cloud burst, dust devil, flock of cranes.” Through her incantations, self and world merge as she strives to embrace both the confining past and the limitless future.
From the Book:
OUTSIDE LIKE THE MOON
What I remember is green sage
blowing over pink clay for miles,
horses running the flushed length of the sky.
The hair on my arms blew backwards.
That was all I thought.
Sheep between red mesas and gullies,
warm air and shadows.
There was nothing but wind.
I did not understand a thing.
I did not want to.
At night I prayed to my old Lord
to leave through the window
and stay outside like the moon,
to keep that kind of distance.
Awards/Recognition:
Four Way Books Intro Prize in Poetry, selected by Lynn Emmanuel
