¿Dónde está nuestro Chávez?
Category: Poem
the recession
i witnessed the last of the snow piles
hand-shoveled or machine-threwn
and the natural drifts too
and the mound in the hollow
of the hügelkultur crescent moon
slowly recede, in a mesmerizing, seemingly molassic, week’s long retreat
then finally and sadly, concede
to the undormant grasses and soft ground beneath
to the sunlit warmth
of these nouveau
great lakes winters
my god,
what global madness
this adored microcosm, my priceless homestead, reveals
and catechizes for me:
our violent, human heat
an unrelenting torrent of accelerant that would
vanquish the ancients
melt greenland’s sheets of ice,
calve antarctic glaciers, strand polar bears,
expose or drown granite, basalt, gneiss
all, in the time of
that old sugar maple’s life
postpartum
fetal cells
remain in a mother’s body for decades
they know this
particularly
because of mothers of sons
son cells discovered
co-mingling in their mother’s
blood
and marrow
long after their first breaths of atmosphere
and for far too many mothers,
long after their child’s last
we mothers, in-secret chimeras
29, 50,
years after birthing /
no wonder
he breathes
1,191.582 miles away from me
as the crow flies,
as the monarch flies
as the hummingbird flies
and still, i feel the cells of gold i alchemized
for 42 strange, wondrous weeks
in my crone bones
postpartum is forever
Continue reading “postpartum”goldilocks’ zone
the widespread muck,
usual to late March
now spoils the January, the December, February too
there are no more
seasons,
only drownt
or parched
what use
is axial tilt, solar distance
while these men
lock-up the thermostat and disarrange the elements
& answered
the kind of god who made
a predator, at all
a carnivore, at all
and worst, of all
a two-legged omnivore
that must char his stone-killed and -cut meat over flinted fire
to choke it down his gullet,
that cloaks himself in the hide and fur and skin and silk of killed, dead things,
that rises in the morning to mine forests, coal, ore, and ancient dead things
to form and forge steel
for his sole animus
theft, consumption and death
of land, women and children,
that’s who.
preparation
she counted propane canisters
for her two Mr. Heaters
put batteries in her camp lanterns — circa 2004,
set out votive and prayer candles, matches and lighters,
worked past midnight
to empty, wash, fill or refill glass wine bottles with water for drinking, teeth-brushing, cooking
that is the advantage of the white wine screw cap bottles
p.s. VOGA pinot grigio is unrivaled for this use
she’s saved them over the months for this sole purpose, those Italians sure know what they’re doin’
she rotated supply: filled buckets with the previously stored precious water,
placed them in the bathtubs for toilet flushing
and in Igloo jugs
for hand and face washing
& dishwashing
(and, hoe baths too)
this beautiful welled water, pumped from 75 feet below the surface, 10 feet of clay and 65 of sand, her friend once researched county well drill permit records for her.
she made a pot of marinara, boiled 3 lbs of potatoes, planned for pancakes, printed out dutch oven bread recipes,
she set out the dog’s paw wax and his wardrobe of coats,
she refreshed her vintage wool blankets on low heat with honeysuckle-infused dryer sheets,
found her favorite j. crew wool men’s sweater, moss green — circa 1999, which reminded: she best learn some knitting – for repairs and darning, at the very least, the cuff seam is unraveling, but, my god, it’s so warm.
she filled all the bird feeders before sunset, although she’s spotted deer at them at twilight and midnight — using their tongues to excavate the seed,
she set the snow shovel and outdoor broom just outside, beside her back door
all this,
just in case
freezing lines and tree limbs knock the power out
and Lake Effect drifts become temporarily insurmountable
she’s always prepared, she always knows what to do
or can generally figure it out, figure a way out of it – and, without GPS
except:
what to do in
a genocide and in climate collapse.
Continue reading “preparation”“wolf”
for the One and Only
Lajuana Lampkins
March 29, 1957 ~ February 26, 2025
May Allah grant her Jannah
& for All the Mothers whose children were — and will be murdered by the State — domestic or foreign, & for All Mothers who have lost — and will lose their children to the brutal and carceral machinations and institutions of the State
Thoth and Anubis weigh the candidate’s heart against the feather of Ma’at while Ammit hungrily awaits the judgment.
Inside Ancient Egypt exhibit,
Field Museum of Natural History,
Chicago, January 2013
photo: by author
she cries “wolf!” so often
that it becomes tempting to ignore
yet the wolves were always nearby,
stalking, steady clawing at her door
there’s a Wolf curled up at her feet now,
but he’s not of the pack of violent beasts,
you see, this Wolf is not a hungried one,
and He does not want her for his feast
Anubis is the Wolf’s name,
and He waits to gently weigh her Heart
on the Golden Scales of Justice
He’s balanced with a badge and service glock,
these reparations just for her, and Mothers like her,
in lieu of the Feather of Ma’at
january 3rd, 2024
I was asked how many real poets we need.
I said:Mosab Abu Toha
We need enough real poets who can together write a single poem that stops this genocide.
the year of unmagical thinking
all delusions were set out in the meadow for scavengers
along with all the seeds she didn’t start this year
she had prophetic dreams
she barely touched her tarot
he now lives entirely outside of her heart
she showed up first, but only as her second, or third choice
then, she died days later, in hospice, at 56,
and presumably,
knows now that she couldn’t take it with her, Egyptian-Pharaonic style
blood and cultural descendants of holocaust survivors are revelling in an ongoing genocide
and someone finally inspected his spots,
but leopards cannot change theirs
some of us, are just about ‘dat’ life, she re-learned
others, lie to themselves about their innocence,
or responsibility, including me,
we are all stereotypes
radical self-promotion and self-reinforcing mediocrity are apparently the new power couple,
she didn’t make it to the Remedios Varo show at the Art Institute of Chicago – with, and on, purpose.
her bones began to ache during sunlight, too, so that’s new,
”People incapable of guilt usually do have a good time.”
December 23rd, of the year of great loss, 2023
On the eve of Christmas Eve, whether Jesus the Christ be a historical human being or mythical figure doesn’t matter — what we know about Jesus of the Gospels, canonized and gnostic is that [t]he[y] would abhor and denounce, the United States and State of Israel with their Temples and Capitols and Pentagons full of woeful Pharisee hypocrites, money-changers and weapons-makers.
To those who have the eyes to see and the ears to hear, witness and listen:
May the Christ within you, awaken, then enrage and enflame your hearts with a love for all who merely want to live in peace upon and with the Earth.
We are all potential Christs.
Continue reading “December 23rd, of the year of great loss, 2023”GLOBAL STRIKE: FREE PALESTINE, Ceasefire! REBUKE Israel & the U.S.!
GLOBAL, GENERAL STRIKE FOR PALESTINE!
STRIKE, PICKET, WALKOUT, BOYCOTT !
NO WORK, NO SHOPPING,
NO SCHOOL!
NO BANKING! NO BUYING!
an atheist mother’s conversion
now, i lay me down to sleep
now, i rise me up to wake
Allahu Akbar!
always on my tongue
unblissed
only
white men
can afford ignorance
at their headquarters
at the headwaters
everyone
downstairs
downstream
must be vigilantly
unblissed
definition | author | proof of life:
foremost Earthling, crone,
and mother to a golden boy;
nightly traveler into liminality;
mostly obeisant
to intuition & premonition;
poet, writer;
heart-sleeved,
bleeding heart pessimist;
devoted friend of crows (at last),
meadow-restorer/tender,
& long-lost sister to snakes, bats and coyotes,
deer & bluebird whisperer,
seed saver, food grower,
an admirer and propagator
of lilacs, hydrangeas,
sycamores, mulberries, pawpaws and oaks;
dna-tested kin to goldenrod, milkweed,
bison, cottonwoods, thistle and monarchs;
wader into ephemeral and glacial
lakes and deep snow;
Moon’s luminous, loyal daughter
& Sun’s prodigal, ever-questioning shadow
equally;
devout, ecstatic
desert, forest and river worshipper;
reverent of and humbly deferent to
bear, wolf, moose, elk & bighorn sheep and hummingbirds;
a mountain, canyon, valley,
prairie and beach walker;
deadly viper assassination squad / kill von Til
i read that an African green mamba
escaped its Dutch trafficker, a collector and captor of living beings
i am someone who never recovered
from reading Kingsolver’s “Poisonwood Bible”
i am someone who never recovered
from experiencing Alex Haley’s “Roots” on American television for eight consecutive nights
i am someone who imagines
an exquisite vengeance
for the fugitive, deadly snake
upon the low people of the Netherlands,
the hubris of those who would build higher and higher dams to contain the rising, wild seas
with transatlantic shipping wealth, every last cent: descendant of African blood money
while they continue in unironic chant for their tulipped nation’s and bland continent’s homogeneity:
make Europe great again!
while, i am someone who quietly incants:
may the viper in silent slither
at their coming fest of Sinterklaas
strike them in the street
as they joyfully parade
with their black-faced Zwarte Piet
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 