Gravel shifts beneath my heel, and I fall
into a bruise that will bloom in the morning.
A cactus pushes its thumb against the root
of a cottonwood. We steal time
to watch the shadows widen, cholla
stretching its fingers into the night.
You sleep in the car ride home,
crumb of a rusted leaf on your shoulder.
Hiking Before the Night Shift
Rachel Walker is a poet from Maryland. She currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, where she is an MFA candidate at UNLV. Her work has previously appeared in Mud Season Review.