We arrive
at sunset.
Stretch out
stiff limbs
and open
eyes to see
the sandstone
sculptures
carved from
cloud shape
shifting
above Petra.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
Publsihed- Harrisburg Review 1998
We're on our way to
take a buggy ride:
Calmly cruising,
in our sport utility vehicle,
on the edge of a mountain top road
that will takes us down
towards Petra...
Jaffar catches the blast
of sonic boom:
He steers the Land Rover off
onto the dusty berm,
and thrusts the gear into park.
He leaps up and out, detecting the trace
of two gleaming gray jets as they pierce
sound and sight chasing speed-
A tilting metallic glimmer through
the deep canyon of red rock at our feet.
The two jets cut long swathes of space
as straight as a Roman Road Airborne.
Pitch and roll and flash past,
dazzling my dazed husband
who slumps back into the car
muttering that he never thought
he'd ever see
a jet perform
below his feet.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
Our little boys like
camel rides
and scramble climbing on ancient ruins.
So many places to ramble...
So beautiful, especially
the spring flowers
that grow everywhere,
even out of rock and
Roman ruins.
History is everywhere you look
and our little boys like
fiddling with stones:
They fill their pockets.
Outside the Grand Treasury that rises
from rosy shades of sandstone
into a precisely carved edifice
of aesthetic sensitivity unsurpassed...
Our little boys glance up briefly
and then browse back at the ground,
eyes absorbed in the trove of little stones-
eager little hands
clutch
all they can.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
We walk in a valley
surrounded by cliff walls carved
with Nabotean caves
and Roman edifices...
Incredible architecture all
soaring far beyond the reach
of my outstretched hand
as my grappling mind
climbs up sheer pink,
red and purple cliff faces:
tombs and temples
a place of trade.
Light air filled rock
that makes our path pliant,
and crumbles as I reach down into it-
dissolves as I lift a small soft stone:
I show our young sons
how to make
sand from stone...
And the youngest
spends the rest of the day
in this spectacular expanse
of carefully sculpted stone
veering towards rocks to crunch.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
To ride a camel
is to smile and nod
at the bedecked Bedouin
and his equally bedecked beast:
You signal with a coin
and he signals with a stick
and the great beast bends his knees backwards
settling to the ground in a most unsettling way.
You reach up with your leg
over the camel's steep back,
and hurl yourself astride-
Hold on, eyes blaring and nose blinking
as the mountainous beast lunges forward
then back
and up
and all at once and you are higher
than any head
and your heart is pounding
pounding pounding
from the unexpected shift
that seemed more like a spill-
And what's most frightening
is knowing that getting down
will be exceptionally more disconcerting.
poem copyright ©2000 Anne Selden Annab
