brown bugs crawl across Rainbow Girl’s face she holds the sacred plant and faces east leads the people on the rainbow way
hagoneh thank you
it is good
time is that way leaves you behind in a velvet blouse looking at
silver hairs in the mirror the young ones call you shimasani
grandmother ancient one one who talks for all the
mother of the world
Coyote grins he knows moonlight will come again spread its milky fingers
over rock and mesa Rainbow Girl bows into the wind
earrings dangle turquoise teardrops for her people
the future is a blue glass bottle break it if you will or use it to
catch tears to drink when rain forget it loves sky and brown
bugs no longer crawl
across paintings in the sand
Previously published in The Tongue Has Its Secrets (NeoPoiesis Press, Vancouver Island 2016) and in Return to Mago magazine (April 4, 2014).
from a painting by Pavel de Nikolaev
Smudged wings, lavender gray,
drape from sloped shoulders.
Course-spun tunic trimmed with lyres.
A field of lilac. A determined mouth,
pursed. Red with readiness. Domed
eyes the size of elbows. A gabled brow.
Twice as large as her round head,
a flat earth, trees and houses for a crown.
Upstretched arms hold the earth steady.
Legs splayed, bare feet point
toward the ground below her.
A city at her knees, each window
illuminated in gold.
Both unearthly and of this earth,
she has a secret. She carries the world
on her head. She is the X that marks the spot.
Previously published in The Tongue Has Its Secrets (NeoPoiesis Press, Vancouver Island 2016)