Tehachapi south down with dust in the mouth
And hills that spin under wheels,
Wild lilac gray, and sunflowers sick of the sun,
And the grade run.
Faint in the ears like a shout the shifting of gears
High on the grade behind, and ahead
Easing out on the road that takes again
The smooth speed of the plain.
The earth bent up into folds yellow and spent
Now passes in pale grass
To a new horizon, farther and more neat,
Cut clean with heat.
The round high pipes following low ground,
Lying apart, bear at heart
Water, water, for men’s throats. And the breath
Of the town is in the teeth.
From Collected Poems, 1930–83. Copyright © 1983 by Josephine Miles. Used with permission of the University of Illinois Press.