Poems by Scott Laudati

The Santa Fe Trail

by Scott Laudati

From Canary Fall 2019

Scott lives near the East River between the superfund site of Greenpoint and the toxic sludge of the Gowanus Canal.

you can read maps by starlight
in places i've been
and you sleep like shit
off the mexican beer
and wake up covered in bites
in hotels where
life is impossible
and everything still alive
wants blood.
did you know what you wanted
at the taco truck in dale hart?
do you know that there’s a
whole country out there
that doesn’t care about new york?
i do now.
i might know everything now.
i’ve drunk from the shallow creeks.
i've chewed the tacos rellenos with
fire still in the seeds.
i looked up for god and every grackle
in the tree followed my gaze.
next time i’ll follow the trails in the sand
and the small streams will lead me to the window rock.
or maybe the other way -
to lie down in a graveyard
where desert rats use cow skulls as ashtrays.
and if the rains ever come again
maybe white petals
will bud up from my bones
and a lost rabbit can
spend a day
sleeping under my shade.