indigenous

indigenous comp

I am nowhere indigenous.  Born in the midwestern United States, I have moved through many other regions.  My genetics are blended and confused, my blood relations scattered.  Even within the city I have called home for 45 years I belong to no single neighborhood.  No land or culture claims me as their own.

accumulating
roots of tangled earth and air
unfixed, wandering—

I occupy each season
refilled, resampled, revived

indigenous close up s

For Frank’s haibun prompt at dVerse, considering our relationship to the word indigenous, as we celebrate both Columbus Day and the native peoples who inhabited this land long before Columbus discovered it.

days end

days end s

tree branches
brush the sky–brooms of
green and gold
sweeping the
cloud dust out of reach—billows
following the wind

 in westward
waves that transcribe the
ruddy hues
left behind
by the last traces of sun–
the shadows deepen

 into shapes
that mingle, become
lost in each
other—the
remnants of the day yielding
to sudden darkness

days end close up s

Frank at dVerse asked us to write poems with descriptive detail, that “motivates the reader to remember the poem and read it again.”  This made me realize how little I use descriptive detail as a poetic device.

days end landscape s

I’m not even sure what I wrote really qualifies, but it’s closer than most of my work.  And I also realized this kind of poetry is very hard to illustrate, at least the way I illustrate my poems.  I dug into my archives and combined a watercolor and some monoprints I did a few years ago to try to get the same feeling.  You can see the components above and below.

days end mandala s

days end rice paper s

 

In(ter)dependence Day

interdependence day s

one and then
two, attracting, bound
together–
more, not less–
each recombined to make life
new—what it was not

I saw something online this morning–“Happy Interdependence Day” it said.  And I said:  Yes, Yes Yes.

 

 

interdependence day close up s

Happy 4th!

To Starboard

to staraboard 2s

Sails
fly free,
altered by
what can’t be seen,
by the movements of
the horizon—turning
with the curves formed by shimmered
light—pursuing omens carried
on the wind by the wings of sea drift,
currents that keep changing their mind
like the clouds that decorate
the sky–tides scattering
the waves like fortunes
to be gathered
and harnessed,
blind, to
stars.

A reversed and mirrored nonet for Colleen’s #tanka Tuesday words, influence and perception.

The art is a monoprint.