in the morning dodging
slugs & worms washed
out on the path
in the evening, muskrat
making spine trail in the bog
the still water opening its heart
cracks my eyes

the rain hushed day

3 boys playing in a field—
skateboard, basketball, baseball—
each solo

alter of red things
brought to living room
by the 4 year old
topped with a note
she wrote:
IRATE Indians
are not niggers.

reading proverbs from hell
by Blake aloud to you
buzzed in the night

getting up, dancing
to Louis Armstrong – passion
and horns

hearing the coach counsel
his friend on the phone:
we’re never the same day to day,
we’re whatever happened to us
that day. And if yesterday
we were bad, today we have
the chance to be good.

where there are flowers
growing there is hope

yellow & violet

sand piper

horn bridge

bright in the garden

my love beside me

new waves like petals

robins eating worms off the oily
wet street

suicide house
where my kayak
was kept
where a baby was burned
where 3 killed themselves
where a 4th nearly followed
them out into the river

dreamt of coming upon
a drive-thru movie screen
made of tree poles
in the middle of bog land—
icy blue waters
it was an out of this world
sight, stunned me with beauty
I went to take out my camera
but the wind swept me away,
out above the water
I couldn’t believe it

then woke to a bluebird

the morning bog green
& black all the smells come
out in the rain

last night trying to start
the car & it wouldn’t
a young woman walked a stroller
with a one year old in it &
a chunky 3 year old boy
running alongside her
he ran in front of my car,
was running in all the yards
like a dog
so excited by the long grass
and dandelions
they stopped to check out
the dresser we had just put
out on the curb and came
back to my open window
to ask if it was free
me saying, yes
the girl came back with a red
wagon. helped her lift
the dresser onto the wagon
and roll it to her house, the little
boy laughing, helping us push,
oblivious to his poverty, saying
gleefully, “we’re gonna bring
this into our house”

the bee went inside the cedar tree
it was the tree’s heart gone back
hum of toads & boats
bones on the middle
of the trail I’d never been
on before
flying into the heat
of my eyes
neon green
new growth
on everything
bright new moss
tattooed on trees
light exuding
from the ground
birds calling out
to each other
black clouds rolling in

gonna swim to the moon
gonna fly with the birds
gonna love each other
gonna sing with the river
gonna talk to the plants
it’s the last day on earth
& we’re gonna go to heaven
gonna go see Nina Simone & Fred Neil
gonna love everything
it’s the last night on earth
& we’re going to surrender

earth is th ear

Nina Simone:
“Mama, I don’t understand those people.”
Neither do I, but I’m one of em”

little girls playing under
the trees using cars as their mirrors
and curbs as their rooms
until it rains hot & they run inside
birds singing loudly

guiness at noon screaming rocknroll
thru the windows creaking the floor

where we come from
the crawfish got soul
we’re going way down
in the alley
going in the woods
where the crawfish got

dream of playing songs
lyrics & chords
the color of our lives merged
M saying all reservations
are trauma centers
calling me a mosquito
because I ate & left
the mangy quivering deer
staggering in front of truck
with open sores
as I drove home
M talking low quick
in Indian
E answering her mother low
quick in Indian back
seeing shadow husks & winks of
people, souls
in leaf paths

on the alarm clock
radio: “it’s a sunny day and you’re
gonna get thirsty”
actually it’s a black & green rain
from dreams of oceanside
& healing river congregation

governor of Maine signing the Declaration
of Intent
to create a state/tribal
Truth & Reconciliation project

these women were crying
who were abused as children
in foster homes—victims
of the racist system that took
them from their families & tribe
having to open up their own wounds
and wounds of others in order to bring

in a bingo hall,
peace around the table

the governor talked slow country,
“to be frank, I never
thought there was any
difference between us Frenchmen &
the Native”

riding thru thick
red pink white blossoms
the fragrance pulling
me, my body loose
pedaling melds me
with the air & floats me

the Native youth saying how they
had to hide from abuse at
the convent

sweet smell of blossoming
and sweet grass blowing

sun comes out, turns the leaves
greener & we feel happy to be alive

seeds blowing thru the sky
fluff season
my horoscope saying
this is the period of your ninth
loss of innocence
but wilder, wiser innocence
will be born

K making me dreamcatcher,
saying thanks cause I always back her up.
Let us be reborn.

just be your watery self
lyrics soothe me in river
scenes, spring blossoms
sweet lilacs
pink & purple red trees begin to close us in
love keeps me wanting to stay healthy & afloat
be strong for one another