living every-man's nightmare?
by t. zoEy benally

three-thousand-five-hundred-sixty-two-dollars and fifty cents
for a metal detector, to pick out criminals in a lined up crowd
catch them at the door, comb out blood cells from plasma
at least until your comb clogs, infested with plague bacteria
and you can no longer swallow, digest, and begin to starve
begin to regurgitate disease back into the world

the sun was out in Scottsdale last week on Loop 101
elevated lanes flying over urbanization stamps, strip malls
plazas, shopping centers, identical houses with half baths
contractors pretend they don't covet, peripherally peek, Salt and Gila River
the city bulges against invisible lines, perhaps biochemical
US government laid down centuries ago, when all this was worthless

economic development is their new game, our new reality
defined by the televis-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sion, you need what we have
don't you know? Navajos don't want one room hogans, muddy shoes
Navajos want Crownpoint in-situ uranium mining, Burnham power plant
bringing jobs, 49% controlling stock, but only after four years of
foreign control, deceptively white clouds plumed over Sanostee

this place never changes, to the unobservant eye, the same dust
they don't notice, different shades of lipstick smeared on empty 40s
don't notice the water is flavored with songs of Uranium daughters
they ignore the little girl studying every day for her trip east
miss the people planning, organizing, gathering forces of change
to save sacred mountains from manufactured sewage snow

Methuselah Would Know
by t. zoEy benally

the question, page corner torn off and chewed, mashed down
to a pulp pea, not really the same as gum, potential spit wad
--would Dine' from six hundred years ago know us as Dine'?

if we were some how able to cipher the molecules of reality
travel to six hundred years ago, would my clan even exist?
Naneesht'eezhi Taachiinii, one of two sisters from another tribe

six hundred years would be nothing for Methuselah
coiled on dolomite White Mountain slopes, 4,767 years of icy wind
yes there are rocks older, i know, but a tree, new cells, it's different

would communication even be possible with a 1405 Dine'?
or would we be counted as "those that we fight with," bilighaana
our 2005 tongues fattened, dulled by potatoes, mutton, flour, sugar

would they see the chaos, glittering in our eyes, unsymmetric existence
would we see a different definition of harmony? balance on another plane
un-white washed by noble savage incarnations, Hollywood tea seeped in

what would they say about the discarded diaper that still sits along
the south fence of the fairgrounds? would we be easy game, DNA
readily accessible to their yang, ancient biologic warfare kung-fu?

Methuselah, Pinus longaeva, sequestered in plain site, would know
results of this encounter, a tree who has felt millennia borne on frigid winds
Methuselah, only, would be qualified to choose
an appropriate representative to make this journey

thanks Nate for the inspiration. Nate-->muse for a day. thanks for an answer to this question that has been bouncing around in my brain for some time. z

one word: interior
by t. zoEy benally

tan fire feeding walls, filled with styrofoam and cotton candy fiberglass
floors slathered with pumpkin carpet that preceeded the avent of harvest
only saving grace is that it's finger hooks are 1/8th inch, no where near shag
top it all off with petroleum based, explosive white plastic, massive fire ball fodder
this is the interior of the trailer that i live in

7 miles from Cortez
by t. zoEy benally

seven miles from Cortez we spiral, curve along fingerprints
black rubber smooches black asphalt, decomposed eons
different forms of prehistoric molecules touch, spark memories
extinct volcanoes, elemental times, penetrating gas, vapors, metals
salts & all powerful gravity still tethering creatures to earth

seven miles from Cortez is the juniper, cedar & pine
gateway back to another time, younger than highway
atoms, not as ancient as oil and hydrocarbons
igneous rock cooled enough to be handled by symbiotic
communities, humans, shaped into blocks, walls, wide homes

seven miles from Cortez, to the south and seven generations
fast forward to when pit bulls and rotteys fill Navajo corrals
how long until butchered dog swings by one leg from the tree?
Naahwiilbiihi has slipped from his prison in our minds, and again
owns whole families, slaves, who insist that yes and no both mean yes

pain relief
by t. zoEy benally

wrongly i assumed i had outgrown this tendancy
odd mannerism, funny twitch, silly fidget
mistakenly thought this suicidal cowlick
had finally straightened and my hair hung
minus that odd flip on the right lower edge

yet here i sit again, staring into the blankroom
devoid of the usual landmarks--lightswitches
wall outlets, shelves--nothing but invisible walls
smoothed out of existance with white plaster
gesso-ed, waiting, for my painting of the unknown

this weakness, this flaw, this dent in my soul
everyone thinks it's for attention, to control
they just can't see the nightmare parched fields
infested by tan armored grasshoppers, spitting
fear tobacco, preparing to blend in with dirt

if these tires could just survive this pothole
drive on into the next town, where i'm sure
there's a gas station, squeegie in blue window cleaner
glass coolers of fizzy soda, and a telephone
where i could call and you'd tell me it'll be okay

not long enough for always, too short for never
by t. zoEy benally

"always and never are not true"
i read that on a sheet of paper while cleaning today
more potential wealth unearthed
from stacks and piles, what would have been trees

always is not fair and neither is never
i wonder about words that rhyme with never
ever, that could still be a lie when teamed with "not"
virtually banged out onto a flattened tree knot
print strikes replaced by tapping plastic keyboards

always and never make me laugh
i read about dinosaur extinction hypotheses
it's easier to have potential wealth in cyberspace
but soon, all those yes and no answers will catch up
balances will tip, and dino-influenza will become our extinction level event

when always and never finally happens
cockroaches seventy times seventy generations will excavate, mine
our trash time capsules, ponder our fate, and laugh
at our always and nevers, mere shivers in the sun's
hydrogen nuclei into helium nucleus barbecue cook-off
what do humans know about always and never?

insomniac cafe
by t. zoEy benally

it's 1AM, we have just opened our doors for business
at the insomniac cafe, square lights, squinty red or mint gel blue
the pressurized, static hum of neon tubes -- absent
not even the heartbeat cluck of a mechanical wind up clock
cool handed LED, LCD deftly push out corners, collapse
squares, change zeros into ones, twos, three minutes of not asleep

everyone at the insomniac cafe feels the burning optic nerve tug
cold fingers and toes, stuttered inhalations that refuse to fall
into teeter totter patterns, squeaky chain pendulum swing
of bright playgrounds, arc of sand kicked away, kicked away
everyone has the recent memory of escape from water torture
twisted blankets, gritty sheets, head aching from lying alone

all the tables at the insomnia cafe are 22-inches in diameter
they are all 32-inches high, and have soothed many a weary
cheek, forehead, laid upon this tranquil metal palm
most patrons sit alone, ears jaded by even lung action song
sonorous snore pudding, slow drip of drool from lax jaws, dry lips
they lean back, legs thrown out or maybe folded into X-s and T-s

insomniac cafe's ceiling is the ballroom dome of dark violet night
Orion is my favorite dancer, i run my fingers over starry nubs
of his belt, i am Artemis, intrigued by his movements, await his return
sipping warm tea, stirring already dissolved sugar, adding cream
golden pekoe, vanilla eddies swirl around a long, thin spoon
tinny clinks of silver against ceramic would cross oceans of tea

the light bulbs at the insomniac cafe are intentionally incandescent
shadows honored, unblurred, tethered to each of Thomas Edison's suns
the wood floors are polished and waxed, foot falls squeak and tap
jangled nerve feathers can be smoothed, by water from steel faucets
delivered in robust, unaerated streams, warm if goose bumps are your demon
icy cold if nausea, sticky hands, and a burning brain plague you

small corners are available, should you be released from insomnia's
sinewy talons, corners with curved velvet couches, burgundy or forest green
static free angora blankets to curl around, edged with thick satin borders
dark back bench seats of cars parked, abandoned, that you can stretch out on
malleable pillows, filled with buckwheat hulls, or yawn free down
ready for you, to relax, release and slide into sleep's tenuous embrace.

grocery shopping in Shiprock
by t. zoEy benally

bread, baah, pan, what else is it called?
the need for slices, canvas for peanut butter,
jam--sans the high fructose--that's another aisle
rice paper lantern wonder bread
tipped, emblazoned with golden kanji symbols
primary color splashed bag, marshmallow puffed
kindergarten nostalgia, but dad always said, "...brown bread."
fierce Roman meal, luscious Sara Lee
a bag of wheat bread tumbles into the cart
remembering all the bumps, saving them for a sandwich later

ignore the donuts, ignore the butter, margarine
margins of lard, grease and trans-fatty-acids
but that cheese sure looks good, no, not the
computer generated, laser printed processed cheez
thick, cow jumping over the moon cheese
beyond commodity cheese, approved Navajo Nation
WIC cheese, good for little kids and breast-feeding moms
get a brick of that, wire sliced strips, slightly sour
could you call it harvest gold? or maybe smiley face yellow
nuke it in the microwave until it melts, oozes across tortillas

milk is next, my son said that lactose-intolerants
are not made, they are born, he read that somewhere
avoid the yellow highlighted cartons, warning, impending doom
calcium enriched milk--just like bees, wasps, poison plants
ultra-nauseating in the morning, cereal becomes chalky
thick, like that spoonful of breakfast before you realize
the milk is sour, you have no tuffet, but are munching curds & whey
yogurt is fun to look at, but carries lots of guilt and shame
French voices proclaiming their serving are smaller, obese Americans
ground up mother bugs providing crimson tint, to match place mats
i presume, and then there's that high fructose corn syrup issue

ignore the sandwich meat, bacon, hot dogs, pepperoni
curve back towards the bread, but not quite...
slip into the cereal aisle, all the best stuff is at the bottom
i resist the urge to shop for toys and candy
disillusioned by granola myths, and 1950's healthy bales
images of women strapped into fat shaking devices
a box of fruity pebbles to get me through tough days ahead
ignore the pseudo juices, hiss and spit at the word "concentrate"
hallelujah--peanut butter and--no not jelly--jam
i scan labels for the twin demons, evil duo, dark nemeses
trans-fatty acids & high fructose corn syrup

tin can troops line the next aisle, more guilt and worry
it won't biodegrade, how much energy is used to make that can?
how much salt? how much sugar? is it dented? botulism swollen?
industrial revolution technology, nudging us away
from enteric disease--my brother-in-law said that in China
they consider diarrhea the norm & people with solid feces are ill
shoving us towards resource depletion, pollution, trash mountains
remember Nali's wood floor patched with can tops nailed
over fallen out knot holes, the rusty can at grandma's house
top partially opened, metal circle curled into a handle

skewed fats, hydrogen atoms at odd angles, jaunty hats
thrown out hips, hydrogen hookers hanging out under dim streetlights
food victims of a capitalist society, engineered to taste better longer
i walk through the cracker red light district, mutated fats and oils
hold up signs, profess to be the second coming
whisper lies into my ears, "we're not like saturated fat, we're good for you."
"now why would we hurt you? we care about you!"
"less hydrogens, more double bonds." fail to tell you that
reconfigured carbon double bonds curl noodles
into spirochetes, Frankenstein heart worms for humans

soda pop is next with all it's carbonation joys and phosphoric acid burns
but that's a whole poem unto itself, let's roll on into the baking aisle
the wall of bluebird flour, did they know about blue birds & Navajos?
is the flour really better for tortillas & frybread, or is it just effective marketing?
BIA sized food isle-bah, number 10 size cans of green bean torture
WD-40, motor oil, then the wall of SPAM--eyes forward, keep moving!
frozen food aisle, frozen veggies cornered by frozen pizza and desserts
my eyes glaze as i meander past Sudafed, tampons, i bypass the baby aisle
grab a pack of toilet paper, roll of paper towels--select a size is my favorite
by pass the dog and cat food aisle--dog's been gone for a year now

i have finally reached the store back corner, produce penitentiary
unenthusiastic, leafy greens bide their time, await blackened edges,
cellulose weakening, leaking water, and eventual demise, mass landfill grave
potato piles, pass themselves off as vegetables to uncles and aunts
trying to be healthy, green chili is a dark green vegetable isn't it?
scentless tomatoes perch on little hill sides, i can almost taste their grainy
texture, something i don't remember from childhood, something
i think fat green tomato worms would object to, alter the ecosystem
in protest over, i push the items i have gathered, move like a knight
along tiled floors polished, two forward & one across, to check out.

midnight in the cemetery a long time ago
by t. zoEy benally

i did not realize, until just now, that
cemetery was spelled with three "e"-s
grey cemetery dabbed with "e"-s, though my fingers
instinctively gravitate and pounce on the "a"

i probably knew years ago that cemetery
had those "e"-s, teachers threaten to ask
those questions, you know, when you are in their grasp
lined up in rows, much smaller desk than theirs

i don't remember how many of the words
we spoke that night had "e"-s, that night
we parked along grave marker queues
searching moon pacing the night bowl behind us

we talked irrigated corn furrows, thick mud
stuck to our tennis shoes, i am surprised
we kept our shoes and the ground kept
tomato and bell pepper roots, echo exchanges

i do recall that you couldn't convince me
that it was time to go home, that we needed sleep
that there would be other days, other conversations
a small break in the e-s, a small moment of z-s

i knew that it would end, that our conversation
would not exist beyond the dirt car tire trails
that those would be the last energy waves
disrupting air molecules, thumping my eardrums

i've been awake since four
by t. zoEy benally

it's almost 6AM now, but
i've been awake since four

adrenaline flooded veins
heart pumping from a nightmare

my son said, "there's a bee."
"shh. don't be afraid, they smell fear."

malfunctioning electronics smell
aubergine aroma of burning clutch

he pointed to where the creature was last seen
i pawed through the pile of blankets--nothing

i turned over the last blanket fold--it's always last
there it was, hunched over bright yellow and black

bzzt

bzzt

bzzt

i put fear aside, unfolded pile of laundry and concentrated
on yellow, then reached out and grabbed black

soft and fuzzy waist, i enjoyed it for a millisecond
then it started its menacing hula dance

soft wide abdominal plates shifted, contorted
geometric chitin exoskeleton puzzle

the stinger tipped abdomen curved, contorted to the right
viciously stabbed the outer side of my right thumb

i felt no pain, just paused and absorbed
yellow and black in my hand, stinger in my thumb