18 Jun Tobacco-Stained Fingers, By Annalynn Plopp
I rolled the cigarette paper between my thumb and forefinger,
as the Wild West blew dust and ashtray memories into my mouth.
My teeth crunched on gritty rocks,
eroded by tides of passing centuries
into desert sand.
The film coated my gums and my tongue rolled over a jagged molar,
like the moonshine mountain
washed blueberry-field purple
by the sunset.
Tumbleweed car rides kick up clouds of crimson,
when God whispers goodnight in Arizona.
The cigarette paper moistens in my hand,
Heaven forbid I keep living the memory
Of a cowboy daydream,
when I am just a fleck of Pacific indigo
on the star-spangled landscape