Bringing the sun back

To the sun I say my greetings as I did the day before
to the sun’s

memory   can I recall which sun I bore witness to?
whose warmth

is like my own, cradled in the same lava that burns
every sun

which looks like my own   can I bring that sun to you?

---

I am preparing myself so that I might remember the teachings of my grandfathers. I would like to give these teachings to you. I believe that, together, we can begin the journey back to find what many of our people left by the trail. This will be a journey to rediscover a way of life that is centered on the respect for all living things. It will be a journey to find the center of ourselves so that we can know the peace that comes from living in harmony with powers of the Universe. I do not believe in isolating myself in the memories of the past. I do believe that with the teachings of yesterday we can better prepare ourselves for the uncertainties of tomorrow.

– Edward Benton-Banai: “The Mishomis Book: the voice of the Ojibway”

iii poemses

i,
as the timidity of morning relents, the
    whorl of ashless stars
    climbs up into the gut

of heaven to teach it love – relents
    the crawl of moon as
    it detaches from each

world   the peripheries of relent give
    mark give stone give
    the vapid liquor of gray –

ii,
the thread of beginnings is
    taught the how of
    howl & the hum of

humans – lost in the sunsome
    day, the riverbed
    listens   it trades

secrets – what morning knows
    it secretes while the
    thrum of nettles bakes –

iii,
the fulsomeness of each torn leaf
    voids the argument of
    dark   touch the

thorn of thunder & it will silence
    your need   reach into
    the budless sun where

creatures of light scatter into
    a priestly muttering
    of the whoness of wonder –

creation story I

From a bed of grass grew the
  snail whole   from a

Grail of becoming grew the least
  of the bone’s tail   from

A beast of the riverbelly grew
  nothing   nothing made

Sure the mountaintop had enough
  snow till the end of sleep –

The crushed seed

The many eyes of a room in tears
    has dust for vision
    had dust for vision
    the past will rest & it will die
(I gave three words to fire; one would’ve been fine)

The many eyes of the world in arms
    can it not bear?
    will it not bear?
    the house is one & it will die
(The crushed seed is very much a nut)

The many eyes of a single eye
    the river in sight
    the river is sight
    the rain is wood & it will die
(Visit sky often, perhaps even more often)

The green is full of this hour

The green is full of this hour  of
    need   trust in the thrust of
    giving – at most two mistakes are allowed

The age of the sun is now   of
    need   brown in this burn of
    hurt – after two mistakes the count is lost

The loam of the river sinks   of
    need   claim this calm of
    void – when you lose count you are free

twice ii’s

i-
to eke harmony
  order has to be hacked off
  to sing
    the ode must die

to speak tree
  growthspurt will give way
  to song
    the words of thisdom

ii-
the wound communes   begins
  to knead the agreements of

heal

a deliberate earthing

I.
“I am deliberate
and afraid
of nothing.”
An act of will that
    mourns wonder
    weaves magic –

– Quoted words from “New Year’s Day” by Audre Lorde

II.
“Green essence pooled again in my eyes, which paint the grass, which will later bloom in the memories of animals.”
I as earth
    I as animal
    woke as essence of green –

– Quoted words by Alejandra Pizarnik

In tumult

In tumult, the rose of the pen
    withheld word
    spent woodspun ash

As if
    green vessels of forgiving
    died on a sparrow

Stalk –

Crowsong

Crowsong a city can aspire to
as it stutters,

as the fumes settle as the little
that-is is littled

even more – the brag of machete
skins even the

riddle leaving machine leaving
us middled –

wrinkle song

Wrinkle song, spider sung, my
dark my light

in awe   –   wrinkle sung, mother
song, my feet

as clay as sun   –  dance hence &
thence as now

as when, wrinkle deep this spider
song and weep –

—

Tangentialized from the story “A New Wrinkle” taken from “Grandmothers of the light: a medicine woman’s sourcebook” by Paula Gunn Allen.