Driving the highway from Atlanta to Phoenix
means swapping one type of heat for another.
A bead of sweat rolls over my chest,
around my belly and evaporates
so quickly I forget I'm sweating.
Body chemistry changes like the color
of my skin: from yellow to sienna.
My sister says, it's a dry heat.

At dusk, lightning storms over the mesas.
Violets and grays lie down together.
Mountains are the color of father's hands,
layers of dark-then light.
People move west to die, retire in a life
of dust, trade the pollen of the south
for a thin coat of grit, the Arizona desert-
promesas, promesas.

We stop on the outskirts of town
and think about being reborn.
When he places his mouth near my mouth
because he's so obviously thirsty,
when he moves to the well
where my tongue spouts out
because we're mostly made of water
two-thirds of me is certain:
este infierno vale la pena el riesgo.
This hell is worth the risk.



About this poem
"My partner and I have been together for 17 years, and in retrospect, before gay marriage was legal, our commitment was sealed when we decided to move across the country to the desert. The poem attempts to address how external shifts in landscape can transform and reflect what's going on internally."
-Sjohnna McCray

About Sjohnna McCray
Sjohnna McCray is the author of "Rapture" (Graywolf Press, 2016). He teaches at Savannah State University and lives in Savannah, Ga.

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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


(c) 2015 Sjohnna McCray. Originally published by the Academy of American Poets, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate