Notes from Mule Deer Range

Cactus blossoms and sage brush,

sweet over 95. Last time I went

through Deadman’s pass, it was 

fog ice. Splitting the lanes, I crossed

where the sand freezes. I pulled

a piece of sage. I left my tongue. 

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.

May you find the cool comfort

of a high desert night. May your

soul explode with pine and lilies;

your veins swell with dew 

and run off; your lungs split, 

overgrown with creosote and bitterbrush. 

When you pass through,

I left a reminder there, where you slow. 

The land doesn’t move the same

as the ocean. And the air

lights up above, right before the 

split in the sky. I spend most weekends

trying to get to the desert, to lay 

with you in the heathen church, and 

let your breath save me, tender.

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The Poem as Confessional 

Forgive me reader, for I have sinned.  

It has been 8 months since  

I’ve written. The days sped 

past and I just didn’t want to. 

We had a second baby since 

last note. She carries the rain 

down from the mountains  

and spits sunflowers each  

morning. She has outgrown 

her crib already. I cry most 

nights when I pick her up 

because I can’t afford  

one big enough for  

who she is becoming.  

My son comforts us both  

as we sit in the rocking  

chair. I find him in the  

morning with his tool belt 

and plastic hammer, 

fixing what’s broke.

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When Searching for Mass Graves 

Eat oranges. 

And pistachios. 

Under the mulberry tree. 

It is not only the flesh and bones. 

We search for death with spikes. 

Seeing if the soil will alert us to the scent. 

Eat pears. 

And almonds. 

Beside the pine trees. 

This is not about your flesh and bones. 

We search for death with spikes. 

This has always been about the wind. 

And how quickly we cover up death. 

And wipe our memories clean.

Andrew Mercer was born in the high deserts of Northern Nevada and seems to be stuck in the sagebrush and wind. He gained his MFA from Saint Mary’s College of CA. He currently lives outside in ID with his wife and two children. His work has been published in Dunes Review, The Meadow, Sonora Review, and Blood Orange Review.


 

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