Cindy Milwe Anza Borrego

Anza Borrego

That night, the desert, the silver sand’s expanse made bigger by our being

lost, stuck in my hatchback, that poor car spinning its old wheels in a ditch backlit by stars

and lush planets, visible as our naked limbs in the creosote dusk.

I was 21, spent from the city, night’s pink-tinted sunrise a gift wrapped in tissue. And you —

your chipped front tooth, the Badlands’ glare — my dumb mind made up there.

Cindy Milwe

Cindy Milwe lives with her family in Venice, California. She holds a BA from NYU, a Masters in English Education at Columbia University’s Teachers College, and an MFA in poetry from Bennington College. Her writing has appeared in 5 AM, Alaska Quarterly Review, Poetry East, and others. She has poems in two anthologies: Another City: Writing from Los Angeles and Changing Harm to Harmony: The Bullies and Bystanders Project.