Guilliana on Four Wheels

Guillinna On Four Wheels

She goes on four wheels, the hunter Guillinna across desert toward chaparral, fluid motion through pelting rain, dirt brown reverie turned. No stranger, she, to solitary mass. No wonder why her autonomous flight.

She goes on four wheels, the hunter Guillinna

across desert toward chaparral, fluid

motion through pelting rain, dirt brown reverie

turned. No stranger, she, to solitary

mass. No wonder why her autonomous flight.

Resolute, she returns to trusted breeze,

howling wolf memorized to greet her desire.

Shortchanged, she listens to desert breath, cactus

strands recalled to measure her reason. Into

The cavernous night she leads, yellow hairbreeze

through running eyes focused on the hunt, her brainy

bin storage for flood or fire or quake of grief

to lapse her mind’s content—to build, finally,

skyscrapers. No matter the ground grows roots, vertical

blooms, rainstriped clouds. She strives to hold the wheel,

slightly turns to see it hold and hold its

shadowgear, rearboard, frontboard, sideboard past

its radical time to face her single lane

hunt, flat on ground rolling to relieve her

childhousetreasure bound with mild embrace. She

drives and drives through rain as screen to grasp desire,

beauty’s jeweled relief, to cradle deep mountains

on both sides, all desert horizon and dark

reverie. Into this brainy bin, ripe with instincts

bloomed to draw it down, night to drive feet across

time, she seeks her body dress, Guillinna

the hunter, masking her normal repertoire

to lead away from sheer interpretation.

She goes on four wheels, the hunter Guillinna

to revered roads, creeks, riverbeds supple

with gaze to blind faith and impressions of fate. Hands

on wheel, she delivers the fire out of her, Guillinna

the hunter across desert mass and break of steel.

Originally published in Guillinna on Four Wheels by Sandra Squire Fluck. Available on Apple Books and Amazon Kindle.


2 comments
    1. The poem has a special origin. My father was in the military, and we traveled cross-country to wherever he was transferred. It was on those trips that I fell in love with the desert, and “Guillinna on Four Wheels” originated with these cross-country experiences. The child becomes the hunter Guillinna in this poem, the adult woman finally in charge. You can read about these trips on the About page.

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