Dałaa    naki      táági     dįį’i
blue words blue birds
ask me about the cloudy water on the rez and
apache koolaid
red stained hands from drying and cleaning crimson seeds

Harris said quitters never win and winners never quit
Who are the real winners on a Sunday afternoon? A Monday morning?
When wildfires are hazing the sky and we can’t enjoy sunrises because of pollution?

Lay your head in your mother’s hands and remind yourself to count to 10

Dałaa    naki      táági     dįį’i

Stopped at 4 I wonder if cottonwood bark is a map to the next world

A whole pot of jelly for a little slice of bread
I’m from sunny cloudy days at A1 lake
Fishing and singing to the Apache trout
I can’t remember the songs I sang like I’m sure the fish don’t remember my name 
Or maybe they never forgot and have been waiting all this time for those soft songs

and on those same monday mornings and sunday afternoons there’s so much to be thankful for.

silver shimmer lakes, peach mango trees, strawberry colored sunsets. snow that sticks to eyelashes, fresh green and yellow pollen of juniper trees and the sun that kisses our skin everyday
the clouds that wave hello and mt baldy who holds all our hearts

to love to love to love

we as five fingered people have so much love to share and to find in this world
so much to protect and so much to care for
sitting here with a brown sugar shaken espresso
i wonder how the land feels all week long
when nothing seems to change and nobody seems to care

holding our bodies, our languages, our histories
while we build more, we dig out more, we take more and more

at what point does the land begin to let go of everything held? 

Dałaa naki táági dįį’i

4 rows of ric rac on my campdresses
4 plates with commodity cheese and spaghetti while government officials eat at the vatican 
4 arms reach to the sky from a single corn stalk
4 oranges peeled, shared and left back to the earth

dįį’i dįį’i dįį’i dįį’i