Pah Tempe

Paiute for water from the rock 

After another day hiking the desert,
I lock the door of my car,
and turn toward the hot springs
in the cool night.
On the gravel trail 
I’m wrapped by stars,
rehearsing the legend of 
the woman kept from cancer 
by the water.
Hard to believe 
that the Virgin River 
shaped this jagged canyon. 

Terraced pools seep down 
to the river, I slide in 
and the sulfur water 
holds my body, hot, sandy.
I see Pete, the naked regular 
through the rising stream.
My first time 
he asked, “Why are you here?”
He comes after a day of drinking 
then returns to his flickering trailer
            Healed. 

I want to soak naked 
the whole time too,
not just alone in the cold river,
to wash sand out of my bathing suit,
but I’m not a regular yet.
Under the waterfall
I rinse caked mud from my hair 
and off my white arms. 

I return to the pool and find Pete 
leaning against the rock, asleep 
like a little boy exhausted 
from crying in the dark.