Home Again


This morning I wake up in a bed;
not in a tent,
not in a truck,
not on a picnic table.

I wake up in the arms of my husband,
in a solid house,
in Trujillo Creek.

I lay in the warmth of indoor heating,
memories dancing through my thoughts.

So recently made,
I wonder at how deeply felt these memories are,
how treasured the experiences,
how fulfilling the learning,
how dear the people.

I now add a week of writing at Ghost Ranch to my life’s list of adventures.
I look back on it with satisfaction
and with enthusiasm for the future;
for seeing how the lessons learned in the desert will affect who I am.

Yesterday’s Deaths

This snapshot was written two years ago. 

Okay, so, it’s a road.
It looks more like a battlefield, littered with the remains of the fallen.
Many tree people, brush people, insect people, bird people, and animal people
who were alive yesterday morning are not alive today.
My throat aches from screaming each time one fell.
I screamed because they could not.
Mom and I chanted to bless their spirits on
and my chest feels like my heart has been ripped out.
This is something that has been done and can never be undone.
So now, how do we heal?

Dario’s Bot

Hampshire Bot

Hampshire Bot

He got a bot in the mail today.

It’s not a spy bot
or a sky bot,

Not a chat bot,
or a hack bot.

It’s a cool bot,
‘cause it’s a school bot.

Soon his bot will take him away.

Because of generous bot donors,
he’ll meet other bot owners

and off he will trot,
growing his thought,

He’ll fill his ink pot,
and write the world as it ought

He’ll live in a world where all work is play.

With his faithful robot,
In a beautiful spot,
Exploring the way
with other hot shots.

He got a bot in the mail today.

©2013 Annette Meserve


Absorbed propaganda,
turned obsession,
now miraculous validation.

Today, I am so proud of you.

But then again, I was proud of you yesterday,
before the letter came.

©2013 Annette Meserve

Guests in the Orchard

I sit at my computer, toiling with my story, absorbed in the concerns of my characters.

But my concentration is broken by the black nose that appears at the edge of my window frame.  Large, alert oval ears twist every direction while thin, muscular legs step cautiously.  One nose, then another and another until there are nine of the miraculous animals carefully moving around my orchard.

They all stop at once, frozen and listening.  Are the dogs on the deck?  No, they are asleep on the bed beside me, oblivious to the trespassers.

Movement begins again as the apparitions relax, relax as much as deer ever do, and they bend their graceful necks to their task.  With the infallible senses of wild creatures, they seek out fallen apples and pears, delicately chewing, storing the last of fall’s sweetness before winter comes.

I try not to move, not to spook them and they are unaware that I sit, feet from them behind glass.  They are unknowing of the gift they have given me and I smile as I turn back to the desert of Utah and the plight of the Princess.

©2013 Annette Meserve

Living on the Frontier

Cautiously, I prepare to go into uncharted territory,
to a place firmly outside of previous experience.
With no, more suitable, person to hand,
It must be done.
It falls to me.
He is apprehensively willing and patiently encouraging.
Take a deep breath,
and a shot of whiskey.
Here we go.

©2013 Annette Meserve