THE WATER IN THE DESERT

John-Michael Bloomquist

Querétaro stretches pink waves

around mountains where yuccas 

raise isosceles leaves into green bursts

like fireworks shaking free their foil.

The light widens yellow in the center of the town,

slipping off cathedral domes, pooling

around the cotton candy, jacaranda trees.

Hills surrounding the valley darken 

and flicker with lights from the bungalows

and multinational towers. The famous Colonial

aqueduct starts as small bush-sized arches

in the hills. Its leap increases toward

the town center until its big enough 

for palm trees to grow under. The story goes 

a rich man built them for a beautiful nun

who said she would marry him if 

he brought water to the poor in the valley,

vines and trees and fountains. 

PEANUT BUTTER 

The men I taught in the jail cleaned out

an old peanut butter jar and used it 

as their prayer jar. I requested prayer

for a suicidal friend. Greg wrote his 

name on a piece of paper, folded it

and then put it in. My friend is now

a specific person they’re directing efforts

and God toward with words. They say 

prayer is a way they can change

the outside. I’m unsure why I asked them

to do what I wouldn’t. In Poland and

Mexico, peanut butter was the only thing

from America that I missed. Spoonfuls

of peanut butter. Sticky as God.