earth and sky
by t. zoEy benally
i want to write you something beautiful
i want to communicate me to you so that you will understand
and be compelled to hide a little piece of me inside your mind
communicate me then, communicate me now
so that when we are both gone from here
we might both have, the universe might have
that small whisker of understanding,
communication launched, unfettered ships, colorful flags flying
sent out into unknown, deep dark secret seas
and received, welcomed, by neighboring shores
what did i taste like back then? did i taste like honey?
my skin, lips and tongue flavored with unknown bee
thoughts, dusted yellow with flower pollen
or did i taste like wild, sticky red-gold dates
adorned with crystallized sugar lace
dipped in fresh milk still nutty, unpasteurized
or maybe i tasted like fresh bread soft, still warm
from the oven with the slightest hint of crust
fragrant with fennel seeds, light coat of butter
i wanted to taste of fertile valleys, dark earth, the future
how did it feel to travel outside map boundaries?
to hear my parched deserts call to your towering rain clouds
beckon and beg precious moisture, just short of hurricanes
how did it feel, stormy skies, whorled zephyrs
ancient code strung up spiral staircase through generations
how did it feel when platectonic plates shifted, birthing
new volcanoes, electric lightning bolts grounding in earth
rivers meniscus raised with runoff from turbulent storms
both coming to grey junctions where boundaries blur
where your atoms and molecules mix with mine
if this is beautiful--please welcome this message
encoded in yes-no bottles, carried on electron tides
if this is beautiful please accept this gift from my mind
small ribbon of time tied, threaded through heart muscle fibers
so that the blood that reaches every capillary
has been tinged with this memory fragment, melted tissue dye
coloring rouge lips, coconut shell eyes, blushed cheeks
if this is beautiful--please provide amnesty
to this criminal that holds on to and treasures
all flavors of quarks left by who you were
who i was, who we were...
10.26.2006
10.17.2006
hollow, filled
by t. zoEy benally
today fifteen cats were trapped by their own hunger
starved hollow, internal fleas nibbling at their innards
chortle in the greenish pink depths of carnivore gut
in between sips of plasma, meowed and scratched
from filthy cat litter that will now never be changed
tidy clay forever steeped in digest mousie juice
carved out hulls where sunlit children once danced
rattle and roll with words bellowed from wind lungs
abandoned seed husks tumble and crush beneath
gravity powered feet, rushing off into important futures
and fifteen cats share my fate, imprisoned until the end
imprisoned to prove that someone is capable of love
but potential wealth is not love for anyone except yourself
and i would wish for my future, to be lost in Columbia or to fade back
into the anise scented past, rafters pungent with dried
marjoram, thyme, lavender, chamomile, and find myself wrapped in
fragrant cotton sheets, absorbing your warmth and resting complete
beneath the squinty sun's gaze, empty cavern filled by your hope
by t. zoEy benally
today fifteen cats were trapped by their own hunger
starved hollow, internal fleas nibbling at their innards
chortle in the greenish pink depths of carnivore gut
in between sips of plasma, meowed and scratched
from filthy cat litter that will now never be changed
tidy clay forever steeped in digest mousie juice
carved out hulls where sunlit children once danced
rattle and roll with words bellowed from wind lungs
abandoned seed husks tumble and crush beneath
gravity powered feet, rushing off into important futures
and fifteen cats share my fate, imprisoned until the end
imprisoned to prove that someone is capable of love
but potential wealth is not love for anyone except yourself
and i would wish for my future, to be lost in Columbia or to fade back
into the anise scented past, rafters pungent with dried
marjoram, thyme, lavender, chamomile, and find myself wrapped in
fragrant cotton sheets, absorbing your warmth and resting complete
beneath the squinty sun's gaze, empty cavern filled by your hope
10.16.2006
my little pony
by t. zoEy benally
my little pony has a one trick mind
gobbles down my ideas and calls them pony's own
my little pony's borrowed ideas cascade plastic pastel
twirl enticingly down pretend pony purple cheek
my little pony has a single cell mind
regurgitates key phrases, memorized mantras
furiously scribbles notes to remind pony brain
of all the cool things to think
my little pony has unified my minions
organized them into one non-thinking blob
taught them obedience, learn them
not to creatively ponder
my little one trick pony will one day
take over the world and lead the lemming mass
marching unified, mezmerized over canyon ledges
cloned images of me
by t. zoEy benally
my little pony has a one trick mind
gobbles down my ideas and calls them pony's own
my little pony's borrowed ideas cascade plastic pastel
twirl enticingly down pretend pony purple cheek
my little pony has a single cell mind
regurgitates key phrases, memorized mantras
furiously scribbles notes to remind pony brain
of all the cool things to think
my little pony has unified my minions
organized them into one non-thinking blob
taught them obedience, learn them
not to creatively ponder
my little one trick pony will one day
take over the world and lead the lemming mass
marching unified, mezmerized over canyon ledges
cloned images of me
9.14.2006
oneword: hay
by t. zoEy benally
it feels like falling out of trees
feels like heartworm twirl through my valves
threatening to clog and choke blood flow off
it feels like karate chop to the neck
swift blow to the sternum
with a bike handle end
when i inhale too much hay.
by t. zoEy benally
it feels like falling out of trees
feels like heartworm twirl through my valves
threatening to clog and choke blood flow off
it feels like karate chop to the neck
swift blow to the sternum
with a bike handle end
when i inhale too much hay.
9.04.2006
8.27.2006
never ending cycle
by t. zoEy benally
i used to actually care about stains, mess
chaos in general would bother me
but since the beginning of my time
i have found ways to limit the whirlwinds
of madness that i personally create
it amazes me how quickly the books
crawl out of their rows and onto
the heads of other books
a virtual mosh pit of reading
churning in rectangle stacks
i find it amazing how my very own
socks embark on adventures
to places unknown beneath
my children's bunkbed, flattened
to a linty, dusty cotton spot
about a decade back, i found myself
literally, the sole soldier at war
with calamity, fighting back
turmoil on a daily basis, husband,
children all considered the enemy
so i put down my weapons and said,
"i will fight no more forever."
and today, my house is messy
but i don't care, if they don't care
who am i kidding--martha stewart
will never visit me anyway!
by t. zoEy benally
i used to actually care about stains, mess
chaos in general would bother me
but since the beginning of my time
i have found ways to limit the whirlwinds
of madness that i personally create
it amazes me how quickly the books
crawl out of their rows and onto
the heads of other books
a virtual mosh pit of reading
churning in rectangle stacks
i find it amazing how my very own
socks embark on adventures
to places unknown beneath
my children's bunkbed, flattened
to a linty, dusty cotton spot
about a decade back, i found myself
literally, the sole soldier at war
with calamity, fighting back
turmoil on a daily basis, husband,
children all considered the enemy
so i put down my weapons and said,
"i will fight no more forever."
and today, my house is messy
but i don't care, if they don't care
who am i kidding--martha stewart
will never visit me anyway!
8.19.2006
oneword: hay
by t. zoEy benally
she sat atop the stacked hay rectangles, her feet dangle over the side and swing as she yells hay prices down to ranchers and farmers below. she stands, towers 17-inches times six layers of hay over their vehicles and effortlessly drops green flowerless bales into truck beds and onto trailers.
by t. zoEy benally
she sat atop the stacked hay rectangles, her feet dangle over the side and swing as she yells hay prices down to ranchers and farmers below. she stands, towers 17-inches times six layers of hay over their vehicles and effortlessly drops green flowerless bales into truck beds and onto trailers.
8.15.2006
Lucky Me
by t. zoEy benally
I’m lucky that I remember the time before we were friends.
You’re lucky that I remember the day that we became friends.
Lucky how I remember how my life was before I became
accustomed to the free speech, raucous ideas & irreverent debate
we have entertained these past years.
Although I am different from that person then,
I can still remember how it was not to have you as a friend.
It is that memory that will pull us both through these tough times.
It is that memory that will allow me to respect
your need to slide back into talons,
retreat behind prison bars painted grey peeling latex,
and continue to lick your wounds coating the raw,
tattered edges with saliva devoid of growth hormone.
The moment we became friends, the sun
yawned and stretched in the west, dragging cherry,
strawberry and orange flavored sunset sheets
and eventually the dark quilts of night, draped from strong shoulders.
The air was grey and cool, broken only
by gold day remnants and jaundiced halogen car beams.
I was having trust issues with 7% DEET,
worried that a virus infested mosquito
would penetrate the defenses and I would lose time
suspended in the deep fog of WNV, WEE, SLE, or some other -itis.
You, accosted by an over zealous prose writer, asked if I needed a ride,
but I was in dire need of three thousand more steps before midnight.
So I braved the night, braved mosquito central,
aka, the bridge over San Juan River waters, and eventually made it home.
I barely knew your name, and I had no clue what your phone number was,
so I couldn’t call you to let you know of my success.
I remember my thoughts the day before we became friends.
I remember walking home and the heat
burning the tops of my arms at the elbows. I remember
running plan a, plan b, plan c, on how to make small adjustments
to the Navajo Nation, and maybe bring our people towards self-sufficiency.
I remember not knowing your name. I remember turning my music up
so that I could ignore passerby comments, car bleats and honks.
One of those was you, you later told me—slightly annoyed
—after I crossed the road just past the intersection,
after I crossed the road for some coffee.
“I was yelling at you. Didn’t you hear me?”
It’s lucky how I remember the time before we were friends.
It’s lucky that I remember because I can now
fold time rivers that we had into oxbows and continue with the flow.
I can insert shunts across clogged artery portions
so that the blood continues to flow and it doesn’t kill me.
I smear briney floods all over my cheeks
and am surprised that white sediment does not dry and crust,
but we are lucky that I remember the moment that we became friends.
We are lucky that I remember, lucky that I can fold
excess time fabric back over those two years and sew
back and forth, back and forth, until those moments
are imprisoned by miles of thread.
We are lucky that I can take care of it alone;
lucky that we won’t have to wait for you
to decide to finally tell me what you’ve been telling everyone else,
for you to finally get up the nerve and tell me the truth
—that our friendship is over.
by t. zoEy benally
I’m lucky that I remember the time before we were friends.
You’re lucky that I remember the day that we became friends.
Lucky how I remember how my life was before I became
accustomed to the free speech, raucous ideas & irreverent debate
we have entertained these past years.
Although I am different from that person then,
I can still remember how it was not to have you as a friend.
It is that memory that will pull us both through these tough times.
It is that memory that will allow me to respect
your need to slide back into talons,
retreat behind prison bars painted grey peeling latex,
and continue to lick your wounds coating the raw,
tattered edges with saliva devoid of growth hormone.
The moment we became friends, the sun
yawned and stretched in the west, dragging cherry,
strawberry and orange flavored sunset sheets
and eventually the dark quilts of night, draped from strong shoulders.
The air was grey and cool, broken only
by gold day remnants and jaundiced halogen car beams.
I was having trust issues with 7% DEET,
worried that a virus infested mosquito
would penetrate the defenses and I would lose time
suspended in the deep fog of WNV, WEE, SLE, or some other -itis.
You, accosted by an over zealous prose writer, asked if I needed a ride,
but I was in dire need of three thousand more steps before midnight.
So I braved the night, braved mosquito central,
aka, the bridge over San Juan River waters, and eventually made it home.
I barely knew your name, and I had no clue what your phone number was,
so I couldn’t call you to let you know of my success.
I remember my thoughts the day before we became friends.
I remember walking home and the heat
burning the tops of my arms at the elbows. I remember
running plan a, plan b, plan c, on how to make small adjustments
to the Navajo Nation, and maybe bring our people towards self-sufficiency.
I remember not knowing your name. I remember turning my music up
so that I could ignore passerby comments, car bleats and honks.
One of those was you, you later told me—slightly annoyed
—after I crossed the road just past the intersection,
after I crossed the road for some coffee.
“I was yelling at you. Didn’t you hear me?”
It’s lucky how I remember the time before we were friends.
It’s lucky that I remember because I can now
fold time rivers that we had into oxbows and continue with the flow.
I can insert shunts across clogged artery portions
so that the blood continues to flow and it doesn’t kill me.
I smear briney floods all over my cheeks
and am surprised that white sediment does not dry and crust,
but we are lucky that I remember the moment that we became friends.
We are lucky that I remember, lucky that I can fold
excess time fabric back over those two years and sew
back and forth, back and forth, until those moments
are imprisoned by miles of thread.
We are lucky that I can take care of it alone;
lucky that we won’t have to wait for you
to decide to finally tell me what you’ve been telling everyone else,
for you to finally get up the nerve and tell me the truth
—that our friendship is over.
8.06.2006
for the children
by t. zoEy benally
"our relationship has elements of domestic violence that we are both responsible for." that is what she has told herself since her hair was styled in a short bob, since she only had her high school diploma, since she had never been anywhere except these small grey towns in the northeastern corner of dine bi keyah. this was her explaination for the strained relationship, strange behavior seived through flour sacks. she loathed herself and he loathed himself. they were two worms living off the others too few green leaves gathered at places of business. each trying to save the other from themselves, trying to make the other a better man--woman. never satisfied, never happy, wasted earth rotations, imprisoned in the other's shadow they stayed together "for the children."
by t. zoEy benally
"our relationship has elements of domestic violence that we are both responsible for." that is what she has told herself since her hair was styled in a short bob, since she only had her high school diploma, since she had never been anywhere except these small grey towns in the northeastern corner of dine bi keyah. this was her explaination for the strained relationship, strange behavior seived through flour sacks. she loathed herself and he loathed himself. they were two worms living off the others too few green leaves gathered at places of business. each trying to save the other from themselves, trying to make the other a better man--woman. never satisfied, never happy, wasted earth rotations, imprisoned in the other's shadow they stayed together "for the children."
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