Lisa Compo

Driving through Yuma, Arizona

A call from 1.5 billion light years within–
quiet and daunting like monsoon wind in early August,  

with promise of a sweetened
throat. A signal of sorts. A code

of aliens dwelling to the far reaches
of her core, bursting

with the strength of twelve suns seen only
as the strangest flicker, a candle lit on an altar. An offering

for a god made of prayers sent from those with no intentions
of praying. The call a low frequency humming

against the vein– one radio channel is here
in the middle of this red mud prairie

and she glances to the would-be lights in
the sky hoping for some glimpse, met only  

with ever-distant Venus, the ever-constant
vastness, and what of wonder? She craves tradition

and thinks: this must be religion.


Lisa Compo attends Salisbury University on the Eastern Shore of Maryland where she studies creative writing, works as a writing center consultant and is currently the poetry editor for the campus’ magazine, The Scarab. She has work forthcoming or recently published in journals such as: Bluestem, Natural Bridge and SLAB.