Iron Creek Blues
by Nicholas Trandahl
IRON CREEK BLUES
“The beautiful lady opened wide her arms,
Embraced my head, and plunged me underneath,
Where I was forced to swallow the water.”
—Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio
I
in my flesh
is a hymnal
nectar
drainage
baptismal
each print
entombed
sedimentary
glister
of unsung particulates
Hephaestus
face-
down
in Iron Creek
mouth
full of shale
and tadpoles
blood
in the coyote’s teeth
northern lights
amethystine
beyond
black pines
II
at the mercy
of topaz
sun
fingers
in dark earth
deep
in the garden
luminous
sacramental
planting
marigolds
like little fires
burning
verdant
sun giants
licking salt
from
flesh
cracking
good earth
with incantations
of warm misery
drinking
of the Badlands
jagged rhyolite
ridge spine
talus slope
crumbling
heaved
into gravity’s mouth
laccolith summit
tangled
in prayers
colorful
Bear River
white bison
pure
as a prophet
III
grim
half-light
eyes
peeled
for starlit
fires
fallen
onto onyx ruin
scars
of sanctification
radiant
holy beads
across
knuckles
like a string
of pronghorn
intercessions
silent
Saint Michael
as erasure
good fight
fought
IV
ghost elk
scatter
with the clatter
of antler
in dark matter
coyote
tricksters
howl
to blue
blues harp
blues
in blood-red
Earth Mother
eastward artery
saintly
wild choir
their criss-cross
forest hymns
celebrate
skyward
with me
sing
and laugh
joyous
haunted
by astrophysics
V
I prefer
this exact moment
of nuclear fusion
to any other moment
of nuclear fusion
this moment
right here
yellow
hands
folded
in prayer
bathed in honey
flooding through
western pines
ponderosa bristle
radiant
with conclusion
photons
shimmering
ambient
with iron ghosts
of Mercury
flickering
solar
like firelight
I swallow smoke
I breathe
fire
I make a saint
of myself
hallowed
hollowed
VI
burning
Aphrodite
claws herself free
from the Powder River Basin
thaw
makes landscapes
into mud
weary
waste places
of the Earth
she emerges
sated
from this water
aglitter
throat chakra
shining
rose quartz
over
high snowfields
ambrosia
burning
in
and out
of spaces
I inhabit
her tongue
sweet
with port
belly
soft
with rich salmon
ribs
thick
with nourishment
VII
she’ll say
smiling
your bones
are my hair
your flesh
my makeup palette
your blood
my iced caramel macchiato
upside-
down
with an extra
shot
and the animals
will scream
elk bones
boiling
bright
in a lake
of mango morning light
I drown
cold
breath
dead
in desperate
biology
oxygen
agency
something
about this air
tastes
like the air
in Arabia
VIII
courage
will open
bloody
as cactus blooms
from damp
nutrient beds
of my flesh-held
garden
O God
maybe it’s me
who smears
their ruin
on the moon’s
full face
rusty
burnt
red
quiet work
trauma hinge
opening
cosmic currency
of dust
in neural geology
earth concerto
groan
through
bentonite slab
through
pine roots
and I brush
mountains
from my beard
ranges
whole worlds
galaxies
IX
my structure
kinetic
with pain
and praise
for currents
which carved me
imperfect
from the dust
of God
NICHOLAS TRANDAHL
Nicholas Trandahl is an award-winning poet, seeker, and veteran residing in northern Wyoming, where he currently also serves as mayor of his community. He has had six poetry collections published and has also been featured in numerous literary journals and anthologies. Trandahl has been awarded the Wyoming Writers Milestone Award and has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize.