Poetry Steeped
in my Mvskoke culture all plants trees flowers creepy crawlies and all animals in the sky on the land under the water are teachers and cousins and friends
tumbleweed
detached entirely from your roots
you are free
so
roll on as you please
dry little puffball
agricultural cornucopia drifting with friend wind
you never seem lonely to me
merry and opportunistic
death is functionality
your structure shades the smallest songbird
lizard and spider shelter camouflaged
safe
from burning sun
you go piling up
on long abandoned dreams
fall apart
in a swell of water
one final gift before
you leave
seeding sage and amaranth flowers I will never see
your generous spirit
a peace sign to me
mountain bluebird
black eyes kind
breast exposed smoke and ash
poetry your
red orange throat
your turquoise notes bring flowers
sweet vigilant you cry
deliberate suppression
of fire
how will you survive
the noise from the machines
your call for love is thin and few
there is no reply
yet everyday you sing to me
joy and reverie
beneath
a weeping sky
lobo/ grey wolf
hunted feared
the green fire
saved the one who killed you
dying in your eyes
stay with me a little longer
howling in the pinon forest
beside the mother ditch
river she
still wants us here
black bear coyote little fox
am I a mountain lion
sister wolf
I pray for us
can you forgive their predicated fabricated
all their dirty lies
you never
decimated populations
never stole their children in the night
Apache kept our stories too
our brothers knew our names
before the others came to drive us to the brink
many trappers we outwitted
we escaped the teeth
in Cimarron in Gila
lobo! do not leave me now
what a wretched thing
trigger itch in paradise
La Lobo sits arroyo searching
stacking bones beside the light

I felt a whole way of seeing alive in these poems — not nature as scenery, but as kin, teacher, witness, and memory. The tumbleweed moved me especially: even in its dryness and ending, it still shelters, carries seeds, and gives something back. And the plea to the wolf has real force because it is not written from distance. It feels like grief spoken to a relative the world has misunderstood for far too long.