Train at Night in the Desert

Georgia O’Keefe, 1916


Georgia, it’s been one hundred years

since you stood in the dark Texas dawn

and marveled at the multicolored haze

clouding toward you down the track.

You thought the rest of your life

would unspool from Canyon, Texas.

You wrote Alfred Stieglitz that you saw

the train, thought of him, and blazed.

You had never even been to New Mexico.

I think of you, so young out on the stark

gray sand, the oncoming train glittering

alive and black, its light fixed upon you

like a sun, like an eye

seeing what no one else can see.


Amie Sharp

Amie Sharp’s poems have appeared in Atticus Review, Badlands, the Bellevue Literary Review, New Plains Review, and Tar River Poetry, among others. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and her manuscript Flare was a semifinalist for the Crab Orchard First Book Award. She lives in Colorado.

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