Wool Socks
My father taught me to recognize
The faint jangled vibrato discord of a spent incandescent bulb
He saved these bulbs so that he could teach me to darn my socks.
He didn’t use the same needles that my mother used.
He didn’t use the same thread.
He sang and whistled.
He asked me what I was doing...
Where I was...
When I wore holes through my wool socks.
I was…
Wandering along the gray irrigation ditch road
Carrying a stick. Followed by my mutts. Smooth river pebbles
Piled in my pockets. Pretending.
Pretending to be Spanky, Darla, Alfalfa.
He let me pull arms lengths of thread from the spool
It took quite a bit of practice to snip the threads cleanly with my even front teeth
Selling seed packets to my grandmothers and grandfathers
Inspired by black and white ads
At the ends of comic book adventures.
I wet the uneven thread ends with spit
Bringing the wet ends to a point between my lips
I was riding the bike that he helped me build
From parts we found at the trash dump
From parts that I bought from the scrap metal guy
A dime for each glass soda bottle
I enjoyed watching the caked sand
Melt from the glass
In water
It made him laugh when I exaggerated
When I scrunched up one eye and stuck out my tongue
While I threaded the big eyed blunt needles
I remember the day
We found the basket for the front
The dump smelled like rotting flesh. It smelled like burning trash.
I was cultivating another hole in my right sock.
The basket corner was as beautiful and precise as any elbow
I used my stick to scrape and pry it from the dirt
He showed me how to anchor and span strands of warp
Across the severed thread chasms.
Threads kept loose
My favorite dog learned to ride in that basket.
She was my constant companion
Silent witness to the erosion of my wool socks
Until a cruel Aunt shot her in a fit of drunken ennui
He told me to be patient
He told me to be precise
While I stepped the weft across
While I closed the gaps worn through wool socks by my adventures
4.07.2015
3.30.2015
Life
Aaaahhhh, LIFE.
You are a mysterious and enchanting mistress and sister.
I kiss your smooth hands and cheeks
I gaze gently with so many questions into your dark eyes.
Life, you are simultaneously the goddess I worship
And the demon that haunts and hunts me.
Only you, Life, can wring and shred my heart with challenges and strife,
But still caress my soul with a touch as distilled as bird’s whisper, a butterfly’s sigh.
Life.
Aaaahhhh, LIFE.
You are a mysterious and enchanting mistress and sister.
I kiss your smooth hands and cheeks
I gaze gently with so many questions into your dark eyes.
Life, you are simultaneously the goddess I worship
And the demon that haunts and hunts me.
Only you, Life, can wring and shred my heart with challenges and strife,
But still caress my soul with a touch as distilled as bird’s whisper, a butterfly’s sigh.
Life.
Loneliness
“Hi!” I smiled. Step on a calculated concrete crack.
“Hi! Come on—let’s go get a burger.”
If he had been a few hours earlier
And had chosen something vegetarian or pescatarian
If.
Then.
Maybe.
Maybe we wouldn’t now both be lonely
But, as it now stands
We are both the 1/10th
Unholy 1/10th never mentioned in gasoline prices.
We are only visible when we congregate in unfortunate and unwieldy clots
We are the spit out lime rinds
Fragrant, but inedible
Indelicately perfumed
We are the bits of salt unlicked
Crystals—too large to savor—tenaciously but delicately clinging to the glass rim
05.30.2015
“Hi!” I smiled. Step on a calculated concrete crack.
“Hi! Come on—let’s go get a burger.”
If he had been a few hours earlier
And had chosen something vegetarian or pescatarian
If.
Then.
Maybe.
Maybe we wouldn’t now both be lonely
But, as it now stands
We are both the 1/10th
Unholy 1/10th never mentioned in gasoline prices.
We are only visible when we congregate in unfortunate and unwieldy clots
We are the spit out lime rinds
Fragrant, but inedible
Indelicately perfumed
We are the bits of salt unlicked
Crystals—too large to savor—tenaciously but delicately clinging to the glass rim
05.30.2015
10.23.2014
Drama at the laundromat
The laundromat is not the place to have emotions.
At a laundromat, any emotion is interpreted as drama.
Sit silently and watch the rotating metal drum spin your clothes.
Slosh. Wash away memories. Whir. Rinse away pain. Bzzz. Spin away heartache.
It's best to quietly admire and acknowledge the water jets flooding the detergent tray.
Minutes digitally ticking down to zero.
The centrifuge slows, reverses, slows, reverses, slows, reverses, slows, reverses...
Until you are no longer interested. No longer care. Gaww-dammit!
Build a callous around your soul and other tender parts because...
You don't need the cumbersome baggage of drama
to weigh you down while you're fighting for dryers.
You need to be clever, calm, cunning, and quick like crinkly aluminum foil.
Drama is a big ol' bag of 50 gallon water.
Suppress your emotions.
The folding tables know too much.
Their hard surface can no longer absorb your drama.
At a laundromat, any emotion is interpreted as drama.
Sit silently and watch the rotating metal drum spin your clothes.
Slosh. Wash away memories. Whir. Rinse away pain. Bzzz. Spin away heartache.
It's best to quietly admire and acknowledge the water jets flooding the detergent tray.
Minutes digitally ticking down to zero.
The centrifuge slows, reverses, slows, reverses, slows, reverses, slows, reverses...
Until you are no longer interested. No longer care. Gaww-dammit!
Build a callous around your soul and other tender parts because...
You don't need the cumbersome baggage of drama
to weigh you down while you're fighting for dryers.
You need to be clever, calm, cunning, and quick like crinkly aluminum foil.
Drama is a big ol' bag of 50 gallon water.
Suppress your emotions.
The folding tables know too much.
Their hard surface can no longer absorb your drama.
8.30.2014
Dead Gray Bird
My ears heard it last week.
And my eyes widened,
and my pupils dilated with fear unconsciously.
Ice shards crystallized instantaneously through my heart.
My trachea and esophagus spasm-ed, shuddered.
My lungs steeped in warm saline.
Sodden tea bags, flavor faded and washed from the desiccated leaves.
My ears heard it,
but my brain refused to believe it.
Override. Override. Override.
Not until yesterday did my neurons register and process the horrific information.
And I know
and understand now
what my skin felt last week.
Damn my brain for stupid optimism
and silly idealist notions,
no better than thimbles.
It's my heart that has kept me safe and alive.
My heart that feels the struggle in fingertips, earlobes, knees and lips.
My heart that deciphers, in an instant, heart beats like Morse code.
My heart that tries to warn me with arrhythmias that make me cough.
My heart that adds, 3 + 8 and verifies that, no, they don't equal 13.
Verifies that the shine in my hair is no longer beautiful.
Verifies that it is increasingly blinding and migraine inducing.
It is my heart now that must bleed, while my bumbling brain watches.
Giant thumbs that cannot peel the covers off the bandage adhesive.
A loathsome dog,
my brain,
all teeth and paws...
Disappointed that the fragile gray bird no longer flies,
but lies limp on the ground.
And my eyes widened,
and my pupils dilated with fear unconsciously.
Ice shards crystallized instantaneously through my heart.
My trachea and esophagus spasm-ed, shuddered.
My lungs steeped in warm saline.
Sodden tea bags, flavor faded and washed from the desiccated leaves.
My ears heard it,
but my brain refused to believe it.
Override. Override. Override.
Not until yesterday did my neurons register and process the horrific information.
And I know
and understand now
what my skin felt last week.
Damn my brain for stupid optimism
and silly idealist notions,
no better than thimbles.
It's my heart that has kept me safe and alive.
My heart that feels the struggle in fingertips, earlobes, knees and lips.
My heart that deciphers, in an instant, heart beats like Morse code.
My heart that tries to warn me with arrhythmias that make me cough.
My heart that adds, 3 + 8 and verifies that, no, they don't equal 13.
Verifies that the shine in my hair is no longer beautiful.
Verifies that it is increasingly blinding and migraine inducing.
It is my heart now that must bleed, while my bumbling brain watches.
Giant thumbs that cannot peel the covers off the bandage adhesive.
A loathsome dog,
my brain,
all teeth and paws...
Disappointed that the fragile gray bird no longer flies,
but lies limp on the ground.
4.26.2014
oneword: smiled
1.26.2012
11.28.2011
oneword: dim
congested skies
diphtheritic clouds
infect my sinuses with a fine film
of minuscule pebbles and river silt
deposited
magically evaporated
from dams piled and affixed
by concrete shoveled in human hands
my eyes assume the dim light
means that it is bed time
and I feel like
lying down
to sleep
congested skies
diphtheritic clouds
infect my sinuses with a fine film
of minuscule pebbles and river silt
deposited
magically evaporated
from dams piled and affixed
by concrete shoveled in human hands
my eyes assume the dim light
means that it is bed time
and I feel like
lying down
to sleep
11.27.2011
4.28.2011
Pseudo Culture
by T. Zoey Benally
Walk with my son, thirteen, Traipse across the bridge.
I retell tales of my day, Chapter House presentation, Navajo town hall.
Report in English, hold my breath, cross my fingers,
Hope the elders understand.
An older gentleman stands and says, "What have we done to our children?
We told them, go to school, learn & come back,
but now they don't know their language."
...for the first time, it was NOT MY FAULT.
My alleged arrogance, my supposed laziness – NOT RESPONSIBLE.
Lee chaii ei lizhin. Masi ei ligai.
Naa a hoohxai ei lichii.
Dine bizaad ei shil naantlah.
My daughter hears 30 minutes of Navajo words each day.
Nouns, adjective lists--even though
Navajo is verb driven--object lists, key phrases, are the core.
My son & I, both NM state public school bilingual program products
Decide to compare notes, play a game, carry on a conversation.
He can’t ask how my day was, can only tell me,
“The sky is blue.” “The car is black.”
I can only answer, “My name is Zoey.” “I am from Shiprock.”
“My eyes are brown.”
Shi deezhi tadiin do biann taa’ bi naa hxai.
To deel chxooshi t’aalai do bi aan naki yaal ba iili.
Abiinigo ashdla’ doo alnii oolkil ayoo shil ya’a t’eeh.
Dine bizaad do shil di’ in diin da.
Endangered language criteria defined by…
Total number of fluent speakers – 173,800. Mean age – 24.4.
Youngest generation acquiring language fluency –
50% of rez kids speak Navajo.
Aunts, brothers, grandmothers, fathers, sisters, uncles
Still HAVE the language, but there are only 2000 elders left,
And my friend laments that birthday parties, and family reunions
Are fast becoming the new Navajo ceremonies.
Iil whoosh! Sinida! Iiya! Noweh! Jaa’ii! Ma’ii!
Naa’ii! Bidii! Yaa di lah! Ge’sho!
Al k’I daa’ dii t’ei ya shil bee hoozin n’tee.
My mom & dad used Navajo as their secret language
To discuss going to town, the carnival, store.
My uncle made fun of the way I pronounced Navajo words,
said I spoke like the Catholic priest.
My mom REFUSED to teach me Navajo because she didn’t want me
To be punished in school, Did not want me to speak Navajo & suffer
--Knees on rice grains, beaten by rulers,
Afternoons smelling corners.
BIA boarding school matrons told MY mom
That Navajos were primitive,
Lower in the evolutionary chain, closer to monkeys.
Told MY mom she needed to give up her language, culture, identity
Take on white culture so she could progress.
Hat’ iish banina? Di kwiish beeso ne hoolo?
Haadee’ nanina? Dine bizaad bohoosha
Shika’ anilyeed.
by T. Zoey Benally
Walk with my son, thirteen, Traipse across the bridge.
I retell tales of my day, Chapter House presentation, Navajo town hall.
Report in English, hold my breath, cross my fingers,
Hope the elders understand.
An older gentleman stands and says, "What have we done to our children?
We told them, go to school, learn & come back,
but now they don't know their language."
...for the first time, it was NOT MY FAULT.
My alleged arrogance, my supposed laziness – NOT RESPONSIBLE.
Lee chaii ei lizhin. Masi ei ligai.
Naa a hoohxai ei lichii.
Dine bizaad ei shil naantlah.
My daughter hears 30 minutes of Navajo words each day.
Nouns, adjective lists--even though
Navajo is verb driven--object lists, key phrases, are the core.
My son & I, both NM state public school bilingual program products
Decide to compare notes, play a game, carry on a conversation.
He can’t ask how my day was, can only tell me,
“The sky is blue.” “The car is black.”
I can only answer, “My name is Zoey.” “I am from Shiprock.”
“My eyes are brown.”
Shi deezhi tadiin do biann taa’ bi naa hxai.
To deel chxooshi t’aalai do bi aan naki yaal ba iili.
Abiinigo ashdla’ doo alnii oolkil ayoo shil ya’a t’eeh.
Dine bizaad do shil di’ in diin da.
Endangered language criteria defined by…
Total number of fluent speakers – 173,800. Mean age – 24.4.
Youngest generation acquiring language fluency –
50% of rez kids speak Navajo.
Aunts, brothers, grandmothers, fathers, sisters, uncles
Still HAVE the language, but there are only 2000 elders left,
And my friend laments that birthday parties, and family reunions
Are fast becoming the new Navajo ceremonies.
Iil whoosh! Sinida! Iiya! Noweh! Jaa’ii! Ma’ii!
Naa’ii! Bidii! Yaa di lah! Ge’sho!
Al k’I daa’ dii t’ei ya shil bee hoozin n’tee.
My mom & dad used Navajo as their secret language
To discuss going to town, the carnival, store.
My uncle made fun of the way I pronounced Navajo words,
said I spoke like the Catholic priest.
My mom REFUSED to teach me Navajo because she didn’t want me
To be punished in school, Did not want me to speak Navajo & suffer
--Knees on rice grains, beaten by rulers,
Afternoons smelling corners.
BIA boarding school matrons told MY mom
That Navajos were primitive,
Lower in the evolutionary chain, closer to monkeys.
Told MY mom she needed to give up her language, culture, identity
Take on white culture so she could progress.
Hat’ iish banina? Di kwiish beeso ne hoolo?
Haadee’ nanina? Dine bizaad bohoosha
Shika’ anilyeed.
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