Serpentine River - Summer

Serpentine River

Summer

Touches of a doe’s tongue

At the tail end of a slithering brook

Pools with other thoughts

In emerald eyes that beckon thirsty souls.

In your repose

Casual legs caress the sun,

Splayed toes cool the sand

As you gaze without shame

Upon the emerging boulders.

As sure as the madrone

That leans toward your raised cup

I approach the shimmering threshold,

Pause for a breeze of doubt 

Then join the silky dance

Of your collected dreams. 

Excerpt from NPK

Magda sat at a table by herself in a dark corner of the restaurant nursing a Long Island Iced Tea.  The rest of the crew was out on the dance floor swaying, bobbing, and egging Soja on with yelps and whistles.  When the band paused for a break, Soja leapt from the stage and beamed to Magda from three tables away,  “Did you fuckin’ see that? – that was so much fuckin’fun!”

Without breaking her stare from the back wall of the stage, Magda flatly replied, “Yeah – kinda hard to miss, girl.”           

“Hey you want to kick it for a while – you know, backstage party?”

            “What fuckin’ backstage; you mean their bus?  Soja I don’t know if that’s a good idea – I heard about those dudes.” 

            “C’mon! Shit live a little.”

            “I am livin’ homegirl.  Don’t you think you’re a little drunk for that shit?”

            “I can handle myself.”

            “Yeah – anyway I’m just gonna go home.”

            “Whatever – you still takin’ Jacque – he’s pretty handsome huh?”

            “Yeah – I’ll take him home.  You sure you not coming?”

            “Geez you act like a fuckin’ old maid.”

            “Whatever.  Do your thing.”

            “Fuck you.”

Serpentine River - Spring

Marbled veins of incandescent moon green

Breaking up granite with wandering power.

– In the spring

Rejuvenating, like a cold slap from a beautiful woman –

In the false confidence of spring I hear my name called repeatedly

In among the tumbling mountains

And the hum of the budding sun encouraging me from behind,

Thus I’m carried to sway her bank

But find my name in a drowning stick.

If I sang so my throat exploded

It wouldn't pause her gasp of

The thick air of new life. 

So I steal a splash from a passing ripple;

Plenty enough to give me song. 

The Time of Open Doors

As she walks the spit along the river’s mouth

She forgets if she is dreaming-

Or forgets that she’s awake.

In a hemispheric world

They call it schizophrenia.

But in the time of open doors

She became a doctor.  

Stop the Bleeding

love one-another

   Recently there has been a wave of media attention on Indian issues – casinos and blood quantum of course.  Starting with the Cherokee kicking the Freedmen off their roles and more recently the small gaming tribes in California dis-enrolling members based on lineage research and even DNA testing.  It has been sickening how biased the media has been due to their obvious bent against Indian gaming.  It seems like no one has any clue how to even approach these highly complex issues, mostly due to ignorance and laziness when it comes to understanding Indian sovereignty and policy, so they just report the most egregious manifestations of a long history of identity confusion and racism.  As with most “newsworthy” issues, what is debated is mostly irrelevant to the majority of those most affected.  What is telling from these discussions is how little people know about actual Indians, and what they do know is based purely on stereotypes that persist as others are challenged, and that most people still see Indians as a race of people – an ethnicity rather than as hundreds of distinct in-tact identities.