Llano Estacado
© 2015 by Sonny Bohanan
Conquistadors chasing gold lose their way
in this yellow sea. A vast nothing
untouched by human reckoning.
Men who sailed past the end of the earth
are no match for grass bending
to the ceaseless wind.
What’s that ahead? Cibola.
The eye blurs, nowhere to alight
in the unbroken sameness.
They stumble upon the fire pit
they’d left behind five days ago,
fall upon their faces, shrieking.
A madman dreamed this place
where earth’s skin stretches like a drum.
Not a tree or landmark,
neither wrinkle nor blemish
mars this unholy land.
Bewitched by the whisper of wind
through dry grass, they surrender.
What chimera mocked them
mocks us too. Blind, abandoned
by God, we all fall down.
Sonny Bohanan was born and raised in the Llano Estacado (Spanish for “Staked Plains”), a high-elevation mesaland that covers the Texas Panhandle. Conquistador Francisco Vasquez de Coronado first crossed the area in 1540, seeking Cibola, the fabled seven cities of gold. He never found them. Bohanan’s poem is loosely based on journal entries by a member of Coronado’s party who became lost in the semiarid grassland, where countless men, women, and children have perished when caught unprotected by its blizzards, tornadoes, and sandstorms.
Bohanan writes and edits fiction and nonfiction in Fort Worth, Texas. You can follow him on Twitter and read more of his work on Medium. He was a newspaper journalist for 20 years; read his investigative and long-form journalism here. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.
