Poetry

creation



light from the stars 


leaves of mugwort muddled into ash


breath of valley race down the hills 


the sun tips as they reflect off the horizon

of mountain bit

by the great snake of it’s peaks


crack of dust from acorn shell

before its ground to flour 

underneath the stone of mortar and pestle 


grinding rock


memory


i hold your hands in mine wrinkled skin slide across your bones 

embellished with precious stones


show me your ring 

that you’ve had for years 


i heard last night

you turned the gas stove on

and walked outside

so we’ve taken off the knobs and changed the locks on the doors

but it hasn't stopped the tears you cry for home


and night after night

you ask for your mom


so i call you

just so you can hear my voice 

and believe that i am her

burden


Keep me in the water

like deergrass for coils

waiting to be dyed

deep wine of juncus 


Se’ il


splinted sumac


bite the ends with your teeth

wrap me piece by piece 

until your hands turn blue



keep the skin from falling apart

boil my bones black

like the juniper in the fire

Se’ il tu iksh


sit your body down to dirt 

Indian style

on the burnt umber


twist me into the vision

you hang on the walls

leave on your kitchen table

fill with moss potpourri 


extract



until i no longer remember my roots

auxin


plants lean 

to the light

compose

an orchestra of 

molecules

ingrained with 

adoration

each passing 

moment

we would too

if we cared

for the children 

of the sun

like we do 

its mother

aunties


i used to feel hands

squeezing my ribs

like a lemon burdened with juice




to live up to your name

the day of your birth

the kindness in your heart




because your eyes hold more softness

than what i grip in all of my bones

already grown dry and callused 

entwined in layers of sinew



where i am stiff

you are tender

like fresh tanned hide

caressed by plumes of pine



but i have always been 

more like your sisters

tongue sharp to cut 

like the whispers in the kitchen 

bucknife against flesh


delicacies


i hardly know my own language 

it sits on the tip of my tongue 

and when i learn our stories 

it tastes like nostalgia 


elderberries

acorn mush 

salmon cheek

Using Format