table center of my tiny world made bearable by ancient heater blowing hot dust we inhabit this camper as if we could make it our home. in May I reach seventy trying not to resent the broken promises of America of my hopes and dreams or in truth is my name old woman failure do i stand like a broken flag blowing in this cold western wind wondering if my prayers are too stupid if that guy who spits anger at my spiritual poems is right belief an opium to make me forget the freezing phantoms that haunt my nights questions howled by the coyotes in the fields outside this place joining with the pop of guns November hunters take their fill and kill to cull the herds of deer and elk can balance be achieved by killing? i know no words of mine have any effect on the immutable divine prayers i make only to change my countenance to spin myself into gold this poem discomforts me i want to leave town now run from her words she is explaining why no one has paid for my poems why i was born here where we stand on the bones of those we kill and kill where men and women and their children in black skin have never escaped the slave ships in which we crossed them those who cross our borders for refuge of any sort find guns pointed and the soldier's boot no matter how long they clean toilets and tend our lost children this land is not your land or my land though the indigenous ancestors sing in my blood it is a stolen territory not that it needs to be returned the return is to a knowing that nothing is ours, every drop of love produces joy, manufactures abundance comes from nothing we have done. truth yells here our collective lie-thoughts believe in the greed made pretty by manipulating charity i show you my dinner plate instead of my deepest fear and love cyberspace as unreal as our emptiness. will we continue to allow ourselves to be stolen crying alone at the screen? we mean to earn enough next year to make us happy an idea will come a hand will reach us through the internet of our isolation I lay down this LIE sleep dreaming, answers unimpeded by the call of screen and mean I have direct connection. my heart has wisdom written. i'm reading.
i sit with my plain greek yogurt sweetened with real maple syrup from the land where i was born my gut is scrapped raw woke this morning caught in a nightmare from last nights movie a pandora's box whose lid is usually well sealed dealt with this garbage from my early childhood long ago but still it can be stirred by a horror story too close to home the coyote whines in the distance don't disturb me tonight they sing my song laying unsleeping i weep for this child me lost that makes me sometimes cling to my wife until she might suffocate because if i am alone in our house fear creeps in on legs of danger in this state American as apple pie i am guilty of something??? there is a rotten hole in my solar plexus where my innocence died it is where my anger originates and boils out unaskedfor zinging arrows at trivial things it wraps my arms around money when i want to be generous afraid it will hold me captive and without funds i will be unable to run tells me i am incompetent, damaged unworthy to prosper unable to sustain love points an ugly gnarled accusing index finger in my direction digs into my skin and twists the truth with unmitigated lies because I am old and used to this nasty voice i scream prayer into my past call out to all right and good give way to a consciousness so filled with light the voice of this accuser abuser this dead old satan whine goes silent again i rise wiser ready to do the laundry sun rises with me... outside morning is breaking me open and up i praise this new day and walk away brave again like the girl who beat the odds and made it out with only a few holes in her clothes