Debaser in Chief
at a time this country needs
men who lay down arms
take a knee
and march with us
he stands scolding
arms folded shaking his head
then wagging his finger
just like my father
standing over my little bawling son
ordering
you –
cut that out
they never learned
the fastest way to end tears
is with with an understanding
hug
something in this breathless time
we all ache for
Jumbo Mountain Speaks
come rest your weariness
here on these hard rocks
with a stiff wind
that will buffet your body
proving the heart
entombed in your aching chest
still beats
face west
toward the long white wall of peaks
back to the cities
the fires the glass
those are fights for another hour
feel your hardness
drain into the rocks beneath your palms
your porous bones no match
for their fixed crystals
you were not meant for this
a soft bleeding body
that weeps water, not ice
just sit and be
while the wind works its way into you
until your rage flickers out
and there’s a new space
between your ribs
I know what it’s like
to feel your heart mined out
set upon by pickaxes
swarmed by the rapacious
proving up on false claims
of their right to strip the world
of whatever life they like
and I know
how to lie still
every night
and stare unblinking
into quiet stillness
until my shoulders ease
it takes a long time
for the ore to lose its currency
the forest to gain a voice
and the scars to grow over
but you can see
all the little aspen now
their young leaves
fizzing with joy
reminding you
that evil subsides
when value systems
shift
what the spruce knows
it’s that time when the creek runs loud and brown
sending the dirt of the road
through the gulch in a torrent
punctuated by white foam
and circling eddies
thrusting sharp sticks ahead
the air has just gone soft
and the snow is nearly melted
the big animals have gone wary
readying for campers and motorcycles
they move across the steep hillside less
their tracks left after dark
the green things begin to prick the soil
and grow wildly
twisted stalks sprouting thick wavy green leaves
and the Oregon grape strews little suns of yellow
blooms across the ground
the air fills with the sweet promise of honey
she still comes and sits every day
taps my trunk with a warm sideways palm
greets me with the old words
Tous, Neyei3eibeihii*
sits down on my curved trunk
gone flat against the dirt and creek bed slope
sometimes she leans her head against my rough bark
and we think together for a time
sometimes she simply rests
in the presence of Moon Creek’s rush
I breathe into her phenols of calm
and the belief
that above or below the ground
we’re all one
our cells align in revelry
we don’t speak
just be for a time
and when she’s ready
I let her go
*Hello, Teacher (in Arapaho/Hinónoʼeitíít)
lessons in inhumanity
the morning started
with the video of the white woman
marshalling the cops to muzzle
the conscientious Black birdwatcher
discuss:
her use of adjectives, verbs
her tone and its cause
and its potential effect
his position, her approach
the thrashing struggle of her dog
the dog’s current disposition
his vocation
introduce:
the concept of ____ing While Black
(as in, Driving While Black,
Birding While Black)
reflect on:
our favorite bird guide of all time,
Dr. Kabelo Senyatso,
imagine him transported from the relative safety of
Botswana bush
to Central Park’s The Ramble
(racists less predictable than lions)
his life reduced to a color
consider:
what small action you can take
to honor Christian’s dignity
the day ended
driving through Denver
police on motorcycles blocking the street
around the Capitol
helicopter circling
tired protesters with sagging signs
hopeful enough to put their health
and safety on the line
to be counted for accountability
explain:
police brutality
and its unequal application
why anyone must affirm
that Black Lives Matter
that it is possible
for one person to kill another
without consequence
evaluate:
how much more bone-wearying
hatefulness and injustice
9- and 12-year-olds can absorb
in one 10-hour span
your privilege in having any part
in determining what they know about all this
your color and theirs making these conversations
seemingly optional
decide:
whether or not to share
the Denver Post’s crawl
rounding the building
as you drive by:
Denver police searching for driver
who struck protester
during George Floyd rally
when what’s left of everyone
is tucked in,
cry for all tonight’s damaged dreams
what I’ve been asked to give
I knew it would demand something of me,
but I was not prepared
to deliver
my living mother.
merging bubbles
I don’t know
how to merge
one small round bubble
with another rainbow-streaked sphere
in a way that expands us all
instead of ending in
an abrupt
pop
I’ve been doing yoga daily since March using Yoga With Adriene’s monthly calendar of videos. Here’s the video where she talks about imagining a trap-door opening while in forward fold: https://yogawithadriene.com/30-days-yoga-day-8/ (at around 16:00).
Uttanasana / Intense Stretch
in forward fold
the trap-door to my crown
falls open
and negativity spills out –
a black tarry mess
of worry guilt envy –
leaving my cortex
free to breathe
think clearly
be harmonious
send a namaste to all beings
even me
30 minutes ago
forgiveness
one day after I nick him with the scissors
he says next time his hair is in his eyes
I may try again
I believe in second chances he says
with all the gravity of a 9-year-old
who has come to accept adult failings
what greater gift could there be
from your own child’s lips?
This is in response to a prompt from Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s webinar Nature as Inspiration and Transformation: An Intro to Nature Poetry: keep a cloud journal.
Cloud Report, 23 May
to the west
over the half-grey half-white peaks
the clouds levitated in bands
closest to earth, they upwelled
like the hair on the back of your neck
when something’s not right –
a bland diffuse mass at the base
culminated in a fine tomentose top
then a band of blue
overlaid with a thin stripe of ethereal cirrus
you know, the cloud of harp glissandos
and then in the foreground
a small puff of cumulus
it was spring
with all the fickle shifting light and heat
that comes with waking
to the south, the sky collapsed in grey over the ridge
promising (insincerely, it seems) rain
and I sat on the small naked knoll
a meter or two above the last chest-high aspens
and congratulated myself
for having walked my body above
the enclosing dark-green forest
straight up into the blue
where I could have a word with the sky on my own
and the word was
yes
