by Valentina Kaquatosh 1997, 1998, 2002
 

vaporized
the random thoughts
of the previous night
blankets of air and water
the clouds part away

asking for the sun to come back
the sounds of the birds
fading

for right here and now
it is still wet
and grey
 

I come walking in a circle
going forth from which I came
only to return again and again
from finish to start
back and forth
awkward boomerang heart

I fear the sky
and the wind
the change of them
thick with color
dank with rain
boils the fear
wipes up a pain
so raw
draws red on my skin
I turn wild white cold
and thin

I shake like
leaves stirring
branches swaying
holding myself naked
against this wind
always the storm
wins
again
again

I feel the thunder
within me
so sensitive am I
can sense its arrival
before a single cloud
forms and lightnings
the sky

I feel disaster ripen
a finger beckoning me
to know just when
to take shelter
when to take
in the rain
to burrow into earth
and pray never
to come out
again

I go to live with
my old house
and taste those memories
bitter petals of leather
chewing the salt of them
as if they were moist
planting them in me
those seeds of dreams
sweeter than the
most poisonous
of perfumes

I go to sleep with
my old lover
chasing after
the plans we had:

we will make everything
we do sacred
together sacred
we will lead...

these things whisper
back into my pockets
tears me up with
a promise
and
a thought
takes root there
grows a fine rash
my pores swollen
with thorns and roses
itching me with
his mouth
in mid sentence
open with hooded head
to point:

we failed to be sacred
we failed to love

I go to wear
my old clothes
scrape out the dust
all of which clings
in the remains of thread
antiqued to wealth

I don't look the same
because I don't feel
the same

by going back
I start over
to live
I must dine
on that which
has been long
dead
 

outside there is a moaning
a moaning in the wind...

...forgive me!
spirits of the storm
forgive me!

I am this brittle bottle 
breaking with tears
an insect hiding in a shell
shaking, chattering

as you breathe me
please release me!

I worship you
O spirits of lightning
and rain and thunder
I worship you
with my fear
with my fear
I worship you

I both cower and stand
in your presence
dancing poetry
leaving bundles
of tobacco
at your feet

and there I run
running away
to weep

anticipating creation or destruction
that is the moment in which I live
that moment so still and anxious chill
that moment before the thunder
shouts of silence in rapid rain
tears to soak the earth
flowing out of me in rivers
crying out that violence
which crashes through
everything to be healed

my fear travels
moves in a funnel
black as mold in skull grin
emptied as the end

yet I look up, look away
wish not to tame these wild things
the things that horror me
wish not to harm the wind
the wind that murders out my name
wish only to be at peace 
with the restless eternal
to play with the wild
and make love on the edge

yet will I ever find him
my creator in the storm's voice
my oldest father
arms stretched out to me
from the distant cloud?

I envy you
envy all that quiet
the quiet which is not meek or mute
but content not expectant
calm and certain
that quiet I envy
rarely happens but
when it comes
I can peek into
the shouts of the past
hear my people's feet pounding
many drums of flesh on the green
voices above thunder
voices becoming thunder
embracing me in the wind
my heart leaps
speeds toward this feeling
I long to have it cool me
to tell me to lie down
lie on the rain-soaked field
overcome by my oldest desire
to be beaded by echoes
over me and around me
echoes of life sinking skin
and to breathe in the rush
of that wildest, swiftest wind
be carried back up
into the beloved arms of my Sun
and remain rooted as a tree
or blade of grass
or flower tall

rooted
rooted in the ground
here so ancient and 
young and constant
can't stand to be in this house
my soul depends on this
to dance out the storm and
do it an only justice
to dig deeply into my own blood
and bleed out the dreams
from my ancestors, descendants
go back along the waves of clouds
steal back the mysteries
take back my grandmother

I must follow the Hawk
his name is my name
together we will wait out the storm
we will sit patiently for a
rat to come burdened by
and lazy with heavy rain
we shall dive down and 
scoop it up and fly up
and land with our beaks
full of fur and blood
and we shall believe
that this has been a good storm
that today this storm
frightened out all the vermin
made us all a good lunch
green us green so ripe

I forget that once
there was snow here...

so long ago and over so fast
I will say I love the storm
as I dirty feathers
sink talon into flesh
that, yes, it is a good day
to remember that power
to sing of mystery

I want to sing
I don't want to cry
can the Hawk
teach me that?

the dream flies away from me
I sink later back home
in the hurting nest
there is the quiet un-quiet
the place of questions
the place of whys

still in my heart
the storm reins
in my eyes
grey
clear
and
wet

I have scaped through the leaves
of my elders
my fathers
the researchers
the men
white and black words
the stories of the ghosts
of the leaders of the untamed past
I read these lives and lines
paged through their times
yet I am still so hungry
so hungry with the hunger
red on my lips

where?

where are my first mother's words?
what have you done with
my oldest grandmother's voice?
didn't anyone hear her cry out?
wasn't she in your voice when
you were born?

I ask where...
my father doesn't answer me
he doesn't know
how can he know?
how can he see?
perhaps there are some secrets
not meant for girls like me

sometimes when I close my eyes
I can hear THEM
the women
singing on the wind
see them now
in the air
them with the little ones
them with the star ones
dancing up in 
swarms of fireflies
shadows toying with light
tending the fires blue
they laugh and cry
much as I do
whispering all at once
all of them whispering
into and out of me
sounds like secrets
endless in this night
secrets men never can take
or buy from us or make
still secrets unknown even to us
perhaps hidden 
here inbetween
the breasts
lost for us to find
perhaps secrets
never meant for the boys

there is a never broken circle
I have to keep tracing
in order to understand
how it works
have to keep holding out
for a mystery
for a power
for the ghosts within me
now as I start to weep
onto the next page
words in threads sticking
all together now
we must hold it
my blanket of whispers
and shadows
holding and begging
to be held

am I the only one to feel it?
am I the only one in pain
as I seek it?
I am the one who holds the ghosts
when the ghosts cry out
with the dying trees
and where are my words
of comfort to them
when people now 
turn from us in dread
turning to form a new way
deaf to the disease
of the dead?

it is not the bodies of women
that hold the distinction
it is the distinction of
making life that 
calls us to the divine
but in the dread
we make the death
we are responsible
for bringing forth of tears

yet tell me now
how to end it
no one seems to know
who
who will I become
when I don't know
where I come from?
who
who took me out of the sky?
who
who do I go to?
there seems no room to fly
and how
how will the way be made?
how will we find it
when we all seem to 
search for it in vain?

no, I tell you
it can't be done
for there are no books
no volumes
no papers
for me to read
no mother
no grandmother
no one here to turn to
except for those in my head
those to you now
who are all dead

and I have only my blood
to listen to...

and my blood is red.