On the Road
The sun scorches along the interstate
branding Arizona with smoldering,
rubber Nazca lines.
In the steak house, ersatz, Western artifacts,
She says she is Navajo
but she looks like Britney Spears.
She brings some bland reproduction food.
I think of Navajo blankets,
how a hand-woven history
has kept their stories new.
She tells me she is working her way through
- she did not say what.
I don’t ask,
I hope it’s someplace real.
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