Pads of prickly pear grab
openhanded from the deluge,
soon blossom tender rosettes
protected by spiny crowns.
Your thorny crown. Lord,
bound to this desert scrub.
Found among scattered rock
like an ancient petroglyph
above a dry wash.
I stetch out lonely arms,
let the rain enfold me,
hold me to this Golgotha,
This hillside Way of the Cross
discovered at a southwest
retreat house near Tuscon.
Lord, wasn't rain in the desert
alone enough for my renewal?
first published in Poetry of the Spirit Anthology
also published in PICTURE HEALING Chapbook
©2009 Bonnie Manion