An anti-oxidant, an anti-inflammatory medication, the ubiquitous creosote bush rejuvenates itself via a cloning process. With a life span upwards of 9,000 years, it is esteemed by the Tohono O’odham to be the oldest living thing on earth. Ten years after a 1962 Nevada thermonuclear explosion destroyed twenty-one creosote bushes, twenty re-sprouted as if to protest, “We will not be moved.” Hiroshima mon amour—no ghosts, no burns, no shadows. The creosote bush simply grows—a survival artist.

-- Amy Sara Carroll

With only a tiny portion of practical advice, this poem becomes an ode to the creosote, which becomes an icon of survival.  This and the other poems reread the landscape for the user who may be perishing in it, to offer hope.

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