Sentinel of the Desert

An Homage to Tucson

Feb 23, 2023

Sentinel of the desert
You are a warrior.
You stand high on the mountain, arms raised.
You have guarded the peaks for more than a century.

Saguaro, from the Sonoran
You are a survivor.
Morphing to withstand drought, adapting to harsh conditions.
You have covered yourself with protective spines to repel your enemies,
Transformed your accordion-like ribs and succulent stem into an ever-expanding cistern, stretched your skin, absorbing and growing.
You store nourishment knowing difficult days will come, spreading your shallow roots wide
Radiating outward, as broad as you are tall, one stem piercing far into the earth.
You will endure.

Sentry of the desert
Even as you brace for attack
You are a refuge. You grow limb after limb to hold the creatures of the arid land.
The Gila woodpecker carves out nest holes in your flesh, using your pulp to make a casing.
Elf owls, flycatchers and cactus wrens burrow into your hollows.

Oh crested Saguaro,
Like me
You were damaged once, scarred.
Maybe it was frost or lightning or a violent force
Or maybe even something deep in your DNA that harmed you
But you healed. Mutating, splicing, changing.
Now you are distinct, cristate among the other sentinels with your fanlike forms.
Your cells divided outward and gave you a crown among your thorns.
Through injury you were transformed.

Durga of the desert, teach me
To be a gentle vanquisher, to stand tall on the mountain, to adapt, to provide shelter
To lift my arms to embrace the wind, to face the world.
To accept the rain, to absorb the sun
Hands upwards, in a perpetual state of prayer,
Giving
White flowers in spring.
Red fruit in summer.