Akyra
The sky is flailing
Tossing and turning into the never ending ocean we call earth
Walking, foot to clay
red stains on soles and bitter eyes stare
Wobbling, waning, jerking- in between both worlds
There is a time of night where nothingness is the only option
There is a time of night where dancing to the heart (drum) is needed
Healed or destroyed
Walking between the binaries of colonized fences and mother earth
Pueblo bread recipe is a secret ingrained into the working hands and hot adobe ovens
but the best bread is split into many pieces and buried into generational memories
But have you remembered yet?
The sky is night
It says goodnight and walks you home to a unforgettable melody
Gives you gifts that you return when father sun awakes and tells you stories
Singing you the lullaby everyone shares but you thought you were the only one it was for
The sky is day burning into a passionate scream of creation
Why are you still here? Haven't you left to find a dream in the universe next door?
Moving and splashing,
The ocean feels the presence of life and draws you into the depths of her womb
Crying into the pots where only your history they belong
But you realize they aren’t just yours
And maybe they were never even yours to begin with
Feeling
The touch of the night brings exhilaration but also quietness
You desperately needed quiet
Touch the sky with your heart but it can no longer reach
I want you , I want us, I want.
But you don't need- me
I once claimed you as mine but you were never even in my universe
The sky took you and the night vibrates with energy
The moon falls down and the sun rises
Who am I?
A Last Note:
This a response to Rose's piece as a poem <3
Comments 1
“Singing you the lullaby everyone shares but you thought you were the only one it was for”
Yoooooo…. That got me in some part of myself that I didn’t even know existed.
I apologized for some arrogance today. I stated a fact of my strange day to someone and I realized later it might have sounded like bragging and I sent an apology for what felt like boasting. Then I added on, “there’s things I might feel righteously arrogant about” and then it sent me thinking about what those might be.
A Pueblo identity, the experience of being a Pueblo person, for better or for worse, for rough or for easy, is something I feel proud of. Is it arrogance? There are many Pueblo people, and many of us know the taste of that specific flavor of tea that makes us Pueblo, but what is it? What is that smell, that taste, that very thing? The lullaby gave me a taste of that thing… one step closer to understanding that (experience) identity.