sonlight [june 2014]

you drove away, West,

from Chicago, annoyed, yet exhilarated
while i was full of held tears,
a mother, trying to mother a boy,
on his bold edge of two decades of life

2014 was a rough
half year to June

we lost our first person to fetanyl
but he would not be [y]our last

i witnessed your grandmother’s January bitter coldness for the second time
and i still have a lasting bone chill from it

by the time you drive across the Mississippi River,
you have forgiven me
but i, you — even before you drove out of our alley,
we keep forgiving one another, me and you.

a couple of weeks later,

i am with our first, sweet dog in our Sun-filled back yard, as he is given a gentle, good death / we have shared so many firsts, but this,

i/we do without you; 17 years — ours, for sixteen — this loyal and strong dog that you chose on Mother’s Day weekend on LaSalle Street

how can it ever be a home again without you, without him

Continue reading “sonlight [june 2014]”

sonlight [june 2004]

the author and her son in the Great Room of
the Old Faithful Inn, Yellowstone National Park,
Wyoming, June 2004

a lucky reservation for one night of lodging and a late dinner — made by telephone months earlier, but just barely early enough,

choosing sweaters to wear to dinner as the June Sun
finally sets / you and i match in black cotton ramie, always and still, my favorite

hungrily watching the clock, in the Great Room, nestled in the same chair by the colossal fireplace

we’d been camping the previous night, in a thunderstorm and downpour at Bridge Bay,
where we awoke to a bison’s grunting, and their immense shadow upon our tent;
we shared our griddled french toast breakfast and percolated coffee with a couple in a VW camper, who were no doubt younger than you are today in June, 2024

with our “Wildlife of Yellowstone” booklet, we identify an osprey perched above our heads in a pine tree as we pack up our camp — a first, for each of us

mudpots, fumaroles, bison herds, bison “jams”, pelicans, waterfalls, canyons, elk, towering basalt columns, sulfur, a wild river, geysers, marmots, hot springs — and Morning Glory Pool.

so many firsts, for me and you.

your shining, smiling face[s]
around that table
by candlelight

what a gift, what a day, what a dream
to share this exquisite meal with you, two,
in such a truly wild place

is this real life?

the clink of silverware
voices and laughter centered — and from every direction,

imply, “yes”.

Continue reading “sonlight [june 2004]”

sonlight [june 1994]

originally written & published June 2024; revised June 2025

i am on my hands and knees
a belly full of baby,

and so happy,

in our backyard

in June

i am pushing the wrong variety of snapdragons into the soil of the new-to-me flowerbeds — in all my young, botanical ignorance,
on this 3rd day, your ‘due’ date,

they call on a landline
to say to me, “your dead, first father’s second wife is now also dead
… and there is a little money from his railroad retirement pension to be disbursed to you, his only child, a daughter”

the timing feels supernatural.

like a gift, from him — ten years, plus one day, after his death on June 2, 1984 — on your “due” date.

a gift.

we are living friday to friday after just barely mortgaging a little worker’s cottage on Grace Street in Six Corners-Portage Park, nine months ago.

on this 3rd day, your ‘due’ date,
in Streeterville, they say to me, “you’re not even effaced,
let alone opening: go home — but come back soon.”

ultimately, we, me and you, go back in exactly 13 days.
the timing is inconveniently perfect:

The World Cup, biblical Chicago heat and humidity, and the hypnotic O.J. Simpson circus
are not my and your fault;

your father and i bring you home on a sweltering Father’s Day.

you, are now, undeniably a Chicago summer baby and i, was always meant to be your Chicago summer mother.

//

i think about that word — “dilated” retroactively:
how my womb would open and become your light-filled
tunnel, one way — or another

Continue reading “sonlight [june 1994]”

come back, come back

hummingbirds where have you gone?

ADDENDUM: the hummingbirds did come back, and as of September 8, 2024 10:00 AM EDT, they are still here.

mid-late april, optimistic
early may, expectant
mid may, consternation

meticulously,
i sanitize the vessels,
bases and perches
soaking and fastidiously brushing the red and yellow flower parts to clean them of all gunk and lodged debris
i employ two, simple, pinched-waist, glass hummingbird feeders //
there are more beautiful, ornamental, more expensive or cheaper feeders available,
but this design functions best/ i am a seven year veteran of hummingbird joy.

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part pure cane sugar.

PURE. CANE. SUGAR.


to

4 parts water.

the end.

not beet sugar, not organic sugar,
nor turbinado, nor raw, never brown sugar


this so very important – other sugars are too susceptible to mold, to bacteria, or contain too much iron in the form of molasses.

pure, white, refined and granulated cane sugar, chemically and nutritionally, most closely approximates natural flower nectar

never ever, use store-bought nectar mix* or pre-mix*;
*and when in a store that sells that toxic shit, bury the packets or hide the bottles behind other merchandise on the shelf — just as when i spot Clinton, Kissinger, Amy Schumer, Dubya, or Sheryl Sandberg non-fiction fictions on the shelf at bookstores or big box stores — i flip that tripe backwards and upside down
so, again:

age-old recipe for hummingbird feeder nectar:

1 part cane sugar

to

4 parts fresh water,

i use pristine well water, here: i am so very fortunate: no chlorine, no fluoride just elements and minerals, no water treatment except for a sediment filter

these two simple ingredients vigorously shaken together, not stirred/
just like my homemade margarita with ice
in the same one-quart glass mason jar


i check the feeders
throughout the day
i obsess, i pray, in my own way

first incantation songs
then lamentation songs


a carpenter bee tricks my ear while i am on my knees digging in the garden

was that her? is she back? are they back?

no, that wasn’t;
no, they’re not.

i google:

“do hummingbirds return to the same summer nesting and feeding grounds each year?”
&
“how long do hummingbirds live?

Continue reading “come back, come back”

she talks to serpents


says they call her out by her name


blue racer sunning themself beneath
the author’s window

Continue reading “she talks to serpents”

The Neutral, The Liberal and The White Moderate: lifestyle preservation by any means necessary


“Do not associate with the neutrals, because they will betray you someday, because they are too cowardly [and comfortable] to take a stand.”


they will betray

with their

portfolio and corporate profit-taking,

dependence on and loyalty to government, organizations, institutions and electoral politics,

cultural appropriation, displacement, dispossession, exploitation, and gentrification of the historically and contemporaneously oppressed

greenhouse gas & carbon footprint privilege and exceptionalism,

ecocide by appetite, consumerism, and growth/development — physical, geographical and technological,

ultimate loyalty to the State and its forces for maintenance and protection — of their own wealth and property, and of private and corporate property, and of The System at the expense of People’s liberation and abolition movements

and finally,

by their neutrality to

particular

fascism and genocide.


Continue reading “The Neutral, The Liberal and The White Moderate: lifestyle preservation by any means necessary”

oh, April


“Why is the World so beautiful?”

Robin Wall Kimmerer

the almost-surreal beauty
of the evening
of the 29th day of April,
2024 CE
Cenozoic Era
Quarternary Period
Anthropocene Epoch
Michigan, North America

“Why is the World so beautiful?” asks, Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer.

It didn’t have to be — the Earth could’ve been Big-Banged out into a uniform, utilitarian and dull rocky planet — evolving without bluebirds, banana trees and bioluminescent jellyfish — or April’s apple blossoms, golden-pink sky Sunsets, and frog choruses,

but it wasn’t.

have mercy.

Continue reading “oh, April”

“PALESTINE IS THE WORLD IN ITS FUTURE TENSE”

Art Not Genocide Alliance manifesto
as distributed and posted at the April 2024
Venice Biennale
to protest the inclusion of and to demand the boycott of the Israeli Pavilion
aka The Genocide Pavilion

NO BUSINESS AS USUAL

DURING GENOCIDE


THE PALESTINIAN PAVILION

WHAT IS THE FUTURE OF ART?

A manifesto against the state of the world.


In a world where genocide unfolds before our very eyes, shielded by nation-state rhetoric and bolstered by the imperial powers of our times, we bear witness to unspeakable horrors. This witnessing is not metaphorical – it is stark reality. To witness now is to be complicit; ignorance is no excuse, and inaction is cowardice.

What is it that cannot be stopped?

The global state structure, which dominated the 20th century, not only allows but actively enables genocide in Gaza and elsewhere in this world. Every genocide is perpetuated by a state. This machinery of destruction, guided by settler colonialism, fueled by capitalism, empowered by technological might, and covered by complicit media giants, must be dismantled. We are confronted with ongoing efforts to alienate us from our political agency and the ability to strive towards a moral and just world for all. We ask: If this level of atrocity is now acceptable, then what is deemed unacceptable? We must reconsider what structures national identities have produced and restore our severed connection to the land as a source of our identity and political existence.

The Palestinian struggle and resistance comes to remind us of what should not be forgotten: the people and the land embody each other, in time and place. It is within this unbreakable bond that we envision the future, it is within this bond that we learn from the past, and through it we engage with our present. We refuse the state of the world: the brutality of maintaining the hegemony of the powerful and the complicity of those who turn a blind eye to injustice.

What role can art and POETRY play in a future built on genocide?

The Zionist state’s atrocities permeate every level of existence. It devours all human knowledge and science by utilizing technology and social engineering to produce killing target and destruction lists. Within these new artificial intelligence technologies, every total meaning can be devoured, every total meaning can kill.

Now is the time for art and poetry. For art
that rejects the logic of prevailing power. For poetry that resists the totalizing narratives that fuel the killing machines of the perpetrator. Art is inherently political-in its message, production, and presentation. It engages with society, assuming a role either in complicity or resistance.

We must defend our agency as political beings,
stateless as humanity itself, collective as what
our societies are, we are bound to organize an
resist on multiple fronts to halt the genocide
and prevent it as a future.

Art and poetry represent our liberated knowledge, freed from the belly of the beast. This moment demands that we reclaim our political agency; in its clarity, it empowers us to turn imagination into affirmative actions, forging poetic structures of collectivity-a return to the essence of our humanity. We belong to the world, to the earth, to the land, and through this agency, we move, act, and refuse to be silent accomplices to the state’s atrocities. We cannot ignore the oppressive conditions under which creativity thrives. Faced with censorship co-option, we must resist glorifying the regime or fading into obscurity.

Continue reading ““PALESTINE IS THE WORLD IN ITS FUTURE TENSE””

lavender, skynet, where’s daddy?

targeted in Gaza

targeted for CECOT

targeted for Alligator Auschwitz



First,

Unit 8200 came for the Palestinians.

with beta Gospel.

AI algorithmic kill lists, the modern canon.

the devils don’t need the details:
a rough timeline, character sketch
just like their old testaments, will do just fine

their new codices
say “them” are the animals,
illegals,
terrorists,
insurgents
divergent
or merely,
existent
predicated on their math of Dominion and omission

demons conceived, incubated and developed in
Tel Aviv, NSA, USA
traitors to the human race
pledged allegiance to The Apartheid State
they migrate
to Silicon Valley
and live in our clouds,
seed and feed your tech portfolio
buy your complicity too easy and relatively, cheaply

they know you traffic and travel comfortably with your
BlackRock War Dividend Platinum Rewards™️ Card
that your urbane lifestyle co-signs ecocide
that you’ll reliably Demsplain a genocide
as mothers, children, olive trees, & the seas die in real time
before we, the real humans’ eyes

the cultured parasites, comfortably-numbed bystanders in the Zone of Interest living their dream lives,

as students and artists and workers and poets resist their silencing and their systems


the entire fucking World, a Fire Factory

Continue reading “lavender, skynet, where’s daddy?”

“The Earth Is My Government”


“The Earth is Our government.”


“We are not talking about any political solution. We are not talking about politics at all. We are talking about survival. Our survival will be guaranteed by we, the human people, accepting our responsibilities and honoring the Earth and the natural world of which we are a part will guarantee our survival. There are natural laws that we must honor and that we must obey. This is the only way in which can show the rightful honor to The Earth. We must remember that The Earth is the source of all of our life. The Earth takes care of us while we are alive in this form and The Earth takes us back when we have departed to the spirit world. We must remember The Earth. We must remember our spiritual, real power connection to The Earth. We are an extension of The Mother Earth. This is our source of power, not the economics, not the politics, not repressive government, not liberal government. Our source of power is us and our spiritual connection to The Earth and our recognition of that.”

-John Trudell

“Freedom... We’re born into a reality where you have to pay to be born, you have pay to die, and you gotta have money to live. Now where is the free?”

-John Trudell

“Our obligations and our loyalty have to be to the earth, and they have to be to our sense of community and to our people and to our relations. Our obligations and loyalty should not be to a government that will not take care of our needs. Our obligations and loyalty should not be to a government that has proven time and time again that it is the enemy of the people unless the people are rich in dollars. That has been the consistent history of Western civilization and the American Corporate State Government – that’s reality. They are not our friends, they do not care about us. We have to face the reality that we have an enemy.”

-John Trudell

“600 years ago, that word ‘Indian,’ that sound was never made in this hemisphere. That sound, that noise was never ever made … ever. And we’re trying to protect that — the Indian as an identity. … we’re starting not to recognize ourselves as human beings. We’re too busy trying to protect the idea of a Native American or an Indian, but we’re not Indians and we’re not Native Americans. We’re older than both concepts. We’re the people. We’re the human beings.”

-John Trudell

"There is no old way, no new way, there is a way of life. We must live in balance with the earth. We MUST do it. We have no choice....The Earth gives us life, not the American government. The earth gives us life, not the multi-national corporate government. The Earth gives us life, we need to have the Earth. We must have it, otherwise our life will be no more. So we must resist what they do."

-John Trudell

It’s our spiritual responsibility to protect the earth.

-John Trudell

THE EARTH IS OUR GOVERNMENT


Poetry vs. Poems


for [US] National Poetry Month 
April 2024

many people write poems,
maybe even some good ones, maybe even a great one

but others,

they

speak in poetry
cry in poetry
illuminate in poetry
lust in poetry
revere in poetry
rage in poetry
survive in poetry
mother in poetry
love in poetry
critique in poetry
dance in poetry
inform in poetry
grieve in poetry
wonder in poetry
assassinate in poetry
expose in poetry
imagine in poetry
rebuke in poetry
teach in poetry
confess in poetry
resist in poetry
observe in poetry
exalt in poetry
mock in poetry
grow in poetry
die in poetry

&

live, and live, and live in poetry

these latter are the poets,

metaphor, verse, and prose
entangled
in every thought, in every experience, in every act, in every feeling, in every expression,
inseparable as breath and air,

whether ever read
whether ever recognized
whether ever published
whether ever paid
whether they ever write one poem deemed good by anyone — even themself

poetry
is
the breath
and blood
and milk
and spit
and piss
and cum
and tears
and wine
and water
and ink
and words

in which

poets

swim

not casually,

but as habitat.


Continue reading “Poetry vs. Poems”

Syth & Lila: a phenology


Hath finally come the hour
when Rengyo will hold fast their
growing, arching, golden stem
long enough to know, to taste, to touch
Lilac’s delicious violet truss?



because, ’til now their Vernal bloom,
has in me, conjured only tragic myth
the one with the cruelest climate and clock,
the tale of an aching,
faith-fulled Thisbe,
and her yet-untouched, devoted,

beloved Pyramus

Continue reading “Syth & Lila: a phenology”