These next two poems will be in my second manuscript.
And this poem comes from a big pot
that I took some designs from it and turned it into a poem.
It's with the School of Advanced research
in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
It's part of the Grounded in clay exhibit
that's being displayed right now at the Indian Pueblo Cultural
Center.
We've traveled to several locations
across the United States, and the pottery collection
has come home, now, back to New Mexico.
"Flowers in the Deer's House."
Painted black line encircles damp earth olla,
Opening a subtle path to skyward realms
As cirrus clouds spiral nearby.
Rainbows,
Light and shadow crosshatch
Distant rains.
Sound of shockwaves
Slice like knives.
Thunder
To arouse Tsits-shruwi.
The horned water serpent
Ribbons through winds of red leaves and feathers,
While rain birds stream into dark caverns.
Water streaks down a stalactite
As she applies a stroke of red paint
To the slipped clay white surface
With curves, hooks, and pointed beaks.
She bends willow
To form a hoop,
A drumstick tied with yucca fiber.
Sonic voice of water drum ripples
As buds of menodora and dalea
Bloom
On adobe floors and walls.
Outside the house of florescence.
Burnished moon of ancient pursuit
Halos night sky
When stellar trail glistens north.
As she sketches the eyes
Of the deer
Cosmic star flower guides her journey
To a trio of bucks standing silent
In the deer's home.
At winter solstice,
As she sketches the eyes of the deer,
She whispers
A blessing of fortuity
To enhance her man's chances of game.
From mouth to slender neck to mid-body,
She paints
Reddish-brown line
To an arrow-tipped heart
Above
A belly of bay-ya.
She exhales
As she exits the opening of thoughts and prayers
infused in clay.
Prosperous hunt.
Abundant rain.
Long life.
Unfired masterpiece nestles in her lap.
She lays her yucca brush aside to rest
And daydreams of her distant relatives.
Her fingers roll
The silver pearl necklace
She wears night and day.
A gift from her father,
When her mother returned to Laguna
In the days
Of horse-and-wagon trails.
A child of the Zuni coyote clan,
She treasures designs from her father's kin.
Into the fired olla
She pours
Cascades of blue
From bear grass baskets,
Storing shelled corn
For winter sustenance.
Thank you.
My last.