The Poetry Marathon

Hour 6: Treaty People Gathering – June 5-8, 2021

Marching slowly with the Treaty People

Towards the headwaters

Of the Mississippi

To support water protectors

Who put themselves in harm’s way

To save water and the sacred land.

 

Feet sometimes trip

Over each other

So we stop to rest

And rehydrate

In the triple digit heat.

We talk stories

And remember why we’re there.

 

We pace our steps while singing

The “Nibi Song” – the Water Song.

No. Not that one.

The one Doreen wrote

Inspired by her son.

 

With each striding forth,

We remember what others have forgotten:

The treaties promised

People would be free like the water

To flow and flourish;

The treaties promised

Sacred lands would be kept sacred.

When we honor the treaties

Our ancestors signed

We honor the ancestors.

Have they no honor?

 

Dragonflies gather

Wherever, wherever we go.

We’re told what Ojibwe hold true:

They’re the ancestors surrounding us.

As if to say, “Miigwetch.”

We’re on this march together.

The Definition of a Poem

You’ll forgive me if I appear to lack

the gravity expected of a

professional author

I’ll have you know I take my craft

as seriously as sin

And still despite my publications and certifications

for the countless ways I’ve been asked

“What is a poem?”

the best and truest answer

I’ve yet to muster is,

 

“Whatever the fuck you want it to be.”

 

(Hour 6)

Hour 6: Lost

So, two hikers, lost
In Lost Creek,

Asked to follow me
To our cars.

There’s no disgrace
In getting lost;

Rather the opposite.
You wouldn’t know

Any ancient Greeks
By name had they turned

Promptly home and calmly
Docked by lunch.

Yet, every step we took,
Those Minnesotans and me,

I wondered who
Was robbing whom:

They me, of my Golden Fleece,
My solitude;

Or me them, of their
Triumphant return,

Their Penelopes, hungry
After all these years,

Aroused by every half healed scar,
Every punishing bruise of the gods.

Anyway, we arrived at the parking lot
And I took their picture

Before driving myself
Home over Kenosha pass,

Safe and alone in my car
Listening to Bach

Without much to note
Except a mosquito bite or two.

Poem 6: Misfits

Misfits

          Researchers Examining Medieval Skeletons Find Really Bad Bunions

          –NPR, June 11, 2021

 

I look to my sandals basket and choose a pair to wear.

It’s summer, my feet won’t know socks or shoes until fall.

I want my feet to be like coyotes – free and roaming fields

colored by wildflower crayons. That’s why I won’t

buy shoes unless they feel like slippers on my feet.

A librarian at the college where I work confessed to me

her fetish for footwear. She loves their stylish looks,

though she never goes barefoot anymore because her feet

are messed up wearing these senseless shoes. That’s

what we can call them, yes? The flipside of “sensible shoes”

that support and don’t harm? Earlier this month, NPR

reported that researchers examined 700-year-old skeletons

to discover gross degeneration of the bones

in their feet – painful bunions they got from wearing

the popular pointy shoes in medieval Britain. Like a foot

can fit properly into a baguette. Come on, people —

wise up! Bones repeatedly abused turn into bruised knobs, some

turn gangrene, damaged from the pressure and scrapes. I want

my pups to thrive like coyotes and bears roaming in fields.

 

 

Hour 6 – The Lilacs & My Mother

In the early morning sun, the 

Scent of the lilacs wafts into my

Bedroom. I rearrange my whole 

Space to move the bed closer, 

Envelop myself in the comfort

Of the smell I have always

Associated with my mother. 

 

In the shifting light of sunrise,

The lilacs caress me, comfort me,

Remind me that the best things

In life are temporary. 

 

They’ll be gone in two weeks, but 

This memory will get me through

The year until they return. 

 

And so life will go, when I

Must grasp the painful parting

With my mother, when the 

Pain and fear of life without her

Overwhelms me, I will be 

Reminded that it is only 

Temporary, and memory can

Pull me through until we 

Return to one another.

exodus

her broad hips
carry a child on each side
keeping
their place in line behind
other mothers and fathers
grands and great grands
and ahead of the same
each step forward
searching for the promise
of safety, of security
of home
while leaving
the absence and
uncertainty of the same
behind

[Prompt 6: Write a poem about walking without ever using the world walking in it.]

ABANDONED RINGS

ABANDONED RINGS      (hour 6)

 

Why did they take them off,

those wedding rings?  There’s

two sets – gold and thin, piled together

on the forest green placemat, alongside

the glass vase with dusty eucalyptus.

The candle is not lit.  The coaster has

no wine glasses resting on top.  Time for me

to leave.

 

Inspired by a photo posted by The Creative Exchange on Unsplash (2.2.21)

 

For Keeps

Forever is made up

of indelible moments

that grab instantly

and stay in memory.

Black Boy Joy

I see you
jaw tight
fists clenched.
I see you there,
beyond this wall
Running, grasping, falling.
I see you & call out
but my voice is worn to a raggedy,
raspy whisper &
you can’t/don’t/won’t hear me.
I see you & realize
I never understood desperation.
I never wanted anything,
not really
until now.

A sky full of stars

Each one has its own story

millions of years old

waiting for its corresponding person

to fill the void it long since forgot.

 

They all go through the same cycle.

Come of age, learn to make it in a world

designed to break them, fall in love,

spawn the next generation, complete

their arbitrary bucket lists and leave with

 

a sense of fulfillment. A presence desperately

needed in a place long forgotten but also a shred

of hope for the once and future king.