SONORAN LIFE

Petrichor perfumes desert air,
cleansed by monsoon raindrops,
darkening dirt like a lipstick stain,

extinguishing forest fires, burning
brighter than summertime sunshine.

Floods roam wild west roads,
carving valleys in foothills filled
with crystals in its belly, awakening

in spring, mesquite trees bloom
honey-yellow catkins to feed bees.

Feasting on soaked soil, saguaro
cacti bloom nocturnal florals
for Lesser Long-Nosed bats to eat

in nighttime, limitless stars paint
the blackened sky with constellations.

Stardust settles on the peak of Mount Lemmon,
where one goes to see snow in winter,
or dance beneath the full moon until dawn

rises the citrine desert sun, stretching
across the turquoise Sonoran sky.

Sun hovers above opuntia, plumply growing
on pads of prickly pears whose juice drips
red from lips of javelina scavenging,

alongside desert dwellers who thrive
in a desolate land that subtly comes alive.

 

 

 

 

 

COMMUNITY GARDEN

One hour a day I trade
an urban jungle for a garden
bed where compost soil rests,
within pale lumber frames
labeled with numbers: 1 to 200

community gardeners grow
tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes,
while others bloom flowers
for butterflies and bees to feast
upon pollen and sunflower seeds

sprouting from dry earth, baked
beneath summer heat, craving
water, I carry across the grass
paths to plots in metal cans,
relieving thirst like rainclouds.

 

 

 

 

 

LAUNDRY

A cool summer breeze blows a backyard clothesline holding
freshly cleaned laundry, smelling of lilacs and lavender, now
outside drying in the warmth of the sun, waving in the wind
like a flag of surrender, quietly promising peace momentarily
between humankind and natural lands, working hand in hand.

 

 

 

 

 

IN THE WILD

Camels
endlessly roam

hot sand
storms

molding grains
into dunes

sloping
desolate terrain

slowly
over time

hoping
to survive.

 

 

 

 

 

VOYAGEURS NATIONAL PARK

Voyaging border waters, eyes swim
through a sea of autumn leaves, yellow
bleeding red. At sunset, crisp air burns
fingertips without mittens; cheeks rouge
from wind in nighttime without sunlight.
Trillions of stars twinkle in the blackening
sky, mirrored in lake-waters, rippling waves
beneath northern lights beaming lime green.
We gracefully dance between boundaries.

 

 

Aubree Tillett is a writer, an art historian, and a librarian, native to Wisconsin but currently living in Minnesota. She is Co-Editor for Minnow Literary Magazine, a digital publication that features minnow-sized writing and art inspired by nature. Aubree earned a MLIS from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, a MA in Art History from the University of Arizona, and a BA in Creative Writing and Art History with a minor in French from Valparaiso University.