I thought I'd read a few poems to start out with and then read
a couple of sections out of my novel--
a couple of short sections--
and then finish with a few more poems.
This one is called "In My Lifetime."
"This day, the children of Speakthunder
run the wrong man, a saint unable to love a weasel way,
able only to smile and drink the wind that makes the others go.
Trees are ancient in his breath.
His bleeding feet tell a story of run the sacred way,
chase the antelope naked till it drops, the odor of run
quiet in his blood.
He watches cactus jump against the moon.
Moon is speaking woman to the ancient fire.
Always woman.
His sins were numerous, this wrong man.
Buttes were good to listen from.
With thunder-hands, his father shaped the dust, circled fire,
tumbled up the wind to make a fool.
Now the fool is dead.
His bones go back so scarred in time
the buttes are young to look for signs that
say a man could love his fate, that winter in the blood
is one sad thing.
His sins-- I don't explain.
Desperate in my song, I run these woman hills,
translate wind to mean a kind of life.
The children of Speakthunder are never wrong,
and I am rhythm to strong medicine.