trip to PHX
by t. zoey benally

silver Echo bloated with gasoline we zipped west
at the last minute i tossed the swimming suit out
shoved an extra pair of socks and underwear
into my health fair tote bag, shriveled from hot water
odometer needle pointed at 60MPH, i was surprised
to encounter a driver, arm rested on window sill at 55

Beclabito and Teec Nos Pos had horses in the streets
Red Mesa was our first stop, health center ribs
not yet stained by red sand, dwarfed twisted cedar
cruised through Mexican Water, across the bridge
up the hill, south on 191, tourist track towards Chinle
cows ambled through traffic towards Burger King

finally make it into Holbrook, sneak past Velosaraptor
miss the turn off that goes past Woody's, we end up
exiting on the next ramp, swing past the infamous
US66 wigwams, old autos used as parking dividers
internet says Native American Indians, no specific
tribe mentioned, lived in wigwams--very interesting

we zoom down through the canyon, weave around
fallen rocks, all the crosses i remember from before,
marking motor vehicle crash fatalities, no specific
names mentioned, are no longer there--removed
not as persistent as stucco cones, erected by Route
66-fifties nostalgia tribes, rampage west to CA

Tucson is humid, reportedly monsoons recently
have begun, ending a 39 day 100 degree heat streak
we pick up little sister and proceed to Tempe
admire all the new construction, reminisce about
visits to records stores, first dinners at restaurants
finally make our way to Dave's Inn, i mean Day's

we eat sushi, edamame and water, discover that
benadryl is an essential first aid kit component
and that downtown Scottsdale has no drug stores
Batucada is next, one hour early, forgot that Arizona
doesn't believe in daylight savings time, wonder
how they'll handle Bushy's new law extending it

going on a trip tomorrow
by t.zoEy benally

tomorrow we're going to Phoenix
i still need to pack, decide if i should bother
to take a swimming suit--i can't swim
only embarass my kids with drowning motions
mouthfuls of air gulped amid thrashes

tomorrow morning we're going to leave
supposedly at 6AM, but i expect clock hands
to creep past six and twelve significantly
before i finally decide i have remembered everything
forgetten only essentials (toothbrush, underwear)

tomorrow we're going to drive down the bumpy Jubilee hill
turn left, cross the bridge, maybe stop at Citgo
fill up on gas, two 20-ounces of water, chips, donuts
make sure i scrub all the bug-gut splatters
off the windshield, arrange cd-s, toss trash

tomorrow we're going to go through red mesa,
kayenta, tuba city--retrace the first trip we took
as a couple, brave, unflinching belief in Sheena,
punk rocker, maroon hatchback Renault Encore
redrive roads i learned to drive on, many 3AMs ago

tomorrow... i have no idea what we'll discuss tomorrow
maybe finish discussions on revolution requirements,
Navajo Youth Liberation Army uniforms, songs, activities
maybe invent another industry, light rail spider legs embracing
everything between the four sacred mountains

shi dine bizaad
by t. zoEy benally

lee chaa'i ei lizhin
masi ei ligai
naa a hoo hxai ei lichii
dine bi zaad ei shil naan tlah

shi deezhi tadiin do bi aan taa bi naa hai
to' deel chxooshi taalai do bi aan naaki' yaal ba iili
abiinigo ashdla' doo alnii oolkil ayoo shil yaa a teeh
dine bi zaad doo shil di in diin da

ilwoosh! sinida! iiya! noweh!
jaa'ii! ma'ii! naa'ii! bidii!
yaa di lah! ge' shoo...
alkidaa, dii tei ya shil beehoozin ntee'

haatiish baanina?
dikwiish beeso ne hoolo?
haadee nanina?
dine bizaad bohoosha, shika anilyeed

what i have done...
by t. zoEy benally

i distinctly remember the feeling of riding the hinge
the sick, but exhilarating roll of steel around steel, degrees
angle change, but was the door opening or closing? 0 to 180 or reverse?
i have no clue, only mixed dread, sadness in my throat.....

thousands of scenarios i have played since that moment
millions of possible futures i imagined, troubleshot
but i am not psychic, i do not predict or know THE future
only use data collected to develop ideas, hunches, notice trends

but you ask, if i had a do-over would i still go in this direction? the answer
undeniably yes--i would allow a glimpse of a small fragment of my world
a direct taste of the un-homogenized stream, icy winds of my reality felt
no hesitation, plow through decades of underbrush, clear this new trail

i am a nobody that never imagined that there would be a somebody
that would even understand this sliver, wedge of me sliced off
but what causes tears to condense, like shower steam on mirrors
is one particular maybe, the maybe of freaks, super-heros--not being understood

birth of this poet
by t. zoEy benally

1998, i was rear-ended by a pumpkin volvo 1977, counter-clockwise into a ditch
smeared bumper, mangled long bed, broken back window and the new
driver side rear tire of our brown 1979-80-82 Ford F-150 shredded
temporal lobe traumatized, neuron chaos ensued

day after morning, anonymous to myself, no one, a stranger
human being in a bed, regarding window frame silhouette
creep up pastel plastered wall, no previous shadow memories to compare
placid sheets, Speed Queen bouquets, stretch muscles, turn over and back to sleep

sepia film strips played, projected to the screen at optic nerve end
chronicled yesterday activities of three females, 28, 15, and 2
it started at 4AM with a metal trailer door knock, we boarded the brown truck
in Bayfield there was that doe, risked her life, leapt in front, third messenger

a bird in Beclabito was messenger two, ogling me from long, high windows
Red Valley coyote, messenger numero uno, ignored for my friend Lewis
one last chat, only jolts of nitroglycerin kept his striated cardiac muscles sliding
vessels relaxed so blood gush pumped from chamber to chamber continues

film cropped, edited to the final fourth warning, two vehicle slammed together
loud clap of fiberglass, metal on Colfax and Pearl, pause then scurry away
reflector crumbs left behind, crop to three females in a brown truck--LOST
parked at a payphone, buying a liter of orange juice for the toddler in carseat

the film ends here, broken, reel spins, film fish tail, slaps, flaps, flicks
melon hollow whack of my skull, no head rest engineered to cradle
bone on metal, grey matter on bone, capillaries burst, neuron arms
and fingers stretch, mozzarella, until they reach snapping point

math super powers lost, my new identity as a mere mortal more apparent
with each reopening of my eyelids, no longer able to recognize number faces
the taste, touch and smell of numbers eliminated, memorization impossible
and in it's place, repeated verses, droned, keep me awake until i download
scribble verses on a paper scrap, receipt, with a cheap Bic pen, eyes covered by dark

deals with the devil, make me fly
take these ridiculous, futuristic, wooden wings
wings that make me crash & yearn for lightness
give me wings of metallic vapor
flailing through the atmosphere
ruddy face, germless gut, fuming at the mouth

plants, mines and me
by t. zoEy benally

nineteen-sixty-one, only one of my best friends was born
but she was too young to attend, not connected enough
to receive an invitation to the ground breaking, spray painted gold
shovels pushed into sandy earth with hogback looming across the river
wonder which politicians pushed that spade with their cowboy boot?
promised jobs, money to help us evolve to the 5th world

i remember in Kindergarten, 1975, remember at career day
i snuck away from the nurse and secretary exhibits long enough to hear
secrets told to the boys about scrubbers & bag houses to clean clouds
whiten steam billowed out of tall black stacks, hidden ships
trying to wend their way away from Navajos, coffers packed with coal
carefully dug from around graves, silent protesters ignored

she lived at east low rent, was able to afford tiled floors, sidewalks
a roof that didn't leak, she had no weeds to pull, squash bugs to pick
from the undersides of large dark triangular leaves, eggs to smash
i have to admit i never saw her push-start her family's vehicle, and
she always had nice shoes, never had to patch with tire patches
sole holes, her dad worked at the power plant, an electrician maybe

i'm not sure when it started, but it would wash away with strong rains
then gradually would build up again, stretch it's scrawny fingers
across the skies, fondle the southern skies, rub the western horizon
drum finger tips north to Ute Mountain, dangle it's dirty nails above the sunrise
my uncle said that the beautiful pink sunsets were actually a by-product
resulted from polluted air rising up from the deceptively pure emissions

i took my hard hat the first time i visited, not really a tour, a survey
part of my job, look at the water, 0.05 microns of conductivity, so empty
they had to add catfish water back in for humans to drink, and avoid cell lysis
those clouds were still white, but black soot rained down, flooded,
covered faces, shoulders, sidewalks that i walked across, i inhaled a good
lungful of fine dark particles, stolen coal burned making it's way back to me

pink eye revolution
by t. zoEy benally

deadly pink eye, i knew it was bad when she put on gloves
normally i watch to see if the docs even pause at the sink and soap
ignored, yellow sign placed at doc eye-level, wash your hands

yesterday it started, but i trace it's origins back to saturday
putting too much of me into the dead dog poem in Telluride
small itch progressed to burning redness, and flood of puss

it would be easy to start a pink eye outbreak, be the point source
a fondled dollar, imbued with gooby eye bacteria, spent here, there
hands contaminated with simpler organisms, bent on survival

pink eye bacteria, smeared on all the P.O. Boxes, counters
shaken onto hands, smeared onto doorknobs, handles, tools
don't touch your eyes! wash your hands! pink eye was here...

today a glob of medication is smeared into pink eye, and fellow eye
the alien beings slowly release their tentacles from my sclera, rhymes with
Sara, Tara, bo-Bear-a, banana-fana, fo-Farrah fee-fi-Mo-Mara, sclera

one word: iron
by t. zoEy benally

red sand stains on your white tube socks
gallons of chlorox bleach will never fade
iron flakes oxidized, rusting in the knit of your heels.

one word: courage
by t. zoEy benally

courage the colour of cougars
tawny yellow that blends with sand
beneath trees, behind bushes,
around fibrous legs of grass
that lick the air before it reaches the sky

JLow's Fur Farm
by t. zoEy benally

she was tired of all the criticism, the picture of her bling-bling next to a fox
electric probe in it's mouth and anus, soon to be denuded, fur peeled off
she tore a corner off the flexible plastic wrap of her Snicker, and pulled it down
rolled down like a sock, white surface exposed, square brown log revealed
she sunk her even white teeth through chocolate, nouget & peanuts
daintily wiped a chocolate smear from her lower lip with a dry, linty tissue

it was the last thing she had to do, before sliding between cream satin sheets
Jennifer glanced the time, 8:30, she better go now before they started rattling their bowls
she grabbed the forest green bucket on the floor, opened the back door
the faucet was dripping again, where did she put those rubber washers?
she turned the knob till water hissed and swirled, quickly filling the bucket
she grabbed the handle taking care not to catch her nail, she was out of nail glue

she held onto the abrupt handle end and dragged slowly towards the door
she discovered that a hoe worked best for cleaning, she cut the handle
so it was easier to maneuver and scrape scat from the corners, out the cage door
she had learned not to worry too much about the yellow urine crust, squares closed
they all peed into a common corner, at first she though the urine would rain
down through the cage stack and stain the fur of the lower rung minks

they were getting really big, for a second she thought back to when they were little
small footfalls vibrating the metal cells, they had gotten sleek, mercury movements
they paced back and forth, heads bobbing in recognition, they smelled food
she opened their cage doors, one by one, scooping a cupful of food into metal bowls
the sun was just coming over the concrete wall, soon her nocturnal army of mink would be asleep
she watched them chow the fish, fruit, and grain mixture, she had to be on the set soon

the blue tarp crunched and slid a little as she walked across, she put the knives down
next to the 5-gallon bucket, she looked over her set-up, plastic covered tables
one for the carcasses, one for the pelts, bucket to catch blood, sharpened knives, gloves
she had hired two guys to help process the meat and skins, but she wanted to do the killing
she wanted to peel their skins down, imagine pieces of her jacket, mentally sew it together
she pulled an animal out of the first cage, carried it to the bucket, and got ready to slit it's throat