DRIVING OUT OF TOWN IN THE MOTHERSHIP
6 OCTOBER 2018, CRAZY CLOUD AND MOTHER QUILT
ON ASSIGNMENT WITH AN ADDED TASK TO GET LOST
AND GETTING THERE, HEADING SOUTH:
I'm Your Man Soundtrack, Marsha Wainwright
singing The Traitor, over and over--
and one more time:
The dreamers ride against
the men of action,
Oh see the men of action
falling back. Like that,
just like that. The muse
will give way later,
along with the angel,
for the Duende to show--
35,000 acres of alfalfa.
25,000 acres of sheep and cattle.
Mt. Adams, Pahto, Old One Standing There.
St. Helens, Loowit,
As Lorca says,
The only struggle.
6 March--12 March 2018
"Lord, you have brought us to this new day."
Not if it's old or new
Is it real
Mother Maria, the Russian nun,
I am your message, throw me
No-Gate opens for the quiet one
navigating the way
I piss and moan, Lord,
I piss and moan
A way not our own
doesn't require understanding
My granddaughters tell me
over and over,
if we have to explain
it's not funny
8 March 2018
I PISS AND MOAN, LORD, I PISS AND MOAN
Like it's my duty.
My burden to show, not preach.
Karen's eyes--this close!
6 March--12 March 2018
CREEDENCE, AND FORTUNATE SON,
BEN E. KING, MERLE, PERCY SLEDGE
We didn't put money in slots
We didn't get any free drinks
Smoke did get in our eyes
Fish and chips at Mel's Diner
and played the juke box.
8 March 2018
OLY AND THE MAMMOTH
--for Karen Bodeen
Oly and the mammoth and the quilt.
A match-up, but not a safe one.
Oly, the chocolate lab.
The soccer playing ball dog.
Dog gone and delivering.
Dog gone and deliverance.
Deliverance in the artist's quilt.
Dog crossing between worlds
with the ball in his mouth.
Quilt artist naming the conflict.
Oly and the Mammoth.
What chance for the dog?
Mother Quilt's collage.
Mother quilt naming the dog.
Naming the mountain.
Mother Quilt bringing her threads.
Mountains from the ages.
Mountains for this age.
Time colliding in cloth.
Laying it out in the material world.
Tule is black netting,
from silk or polyester.
When you lay it on fabric images
it disappears. Black doesn't reflect
the light and you can't see it.
The colors come through.
Tule holds all my pieces in place.
Flowers and weeds of cloth.
Snow and stones and rock.
Big clouds. From the other side
it looks like fire crackers going off.
Technical. Wizardry of Technicians.
Mother Quilt looks into the window
of the Shaniko Hotel. Down 97.
Majesty in the ghost town,
not looking for gone-ghosts,
ghosts visible by color and thread.
This is Karen. Karen's way.
Karen's quiet high way.
Mother of the Mother-ship.
Mother of the Valley.
Mother out of bounds.
A retriever herself.
Look at Oly crossing worlds.
Clearly returning. Check his head.
Mother crossing both ways.
Mother of us all.
Mother Quilt in the Sierra's.
In the many ways of going.
Tracking us in many threads.
24 March 2018
KAREN AND THE MANY VISIONS
OF THE MATTERS OF FACT
Of course, It’s Tule Lake, she says,
echoing No-Gate that was her name
before she was named. Of course.
The one driving away drives toward,
arriving somewhere new.
Navigating quilt woman, threading
her way. Weavers and quilters,
always working, dreaming at work.
Look at my fingers.
Working on the dream.
Bringing it back in pieces.
Bringing it back in thread.
You think she would be easy to live with.
She is only pleasure.
Gold? Liver and stomach upside down.
Holding absolute gold in her hands,
she asks, What flames? Where?
Something like deliverance.
A man and a dog.
A man and a dog and his mother.
La vida continua/ La vida continua.
Like music on the radio.
What a station! What a station!
I would have missed this but for you, Karen.
There is also a man in the moon, she says.
And in this quilt.
The quilt with the mammoth and the dog,
that one, there is also a man.
24 March 2018
No trade, no tenure
Sought for adhering to road
Over Chuckle Pass
7 March 2018
SEVERING COMPLICITY IN THE LIMINAL SPACE
MY SON WHO GAVE HIMSELF FOR ME
TAKES ME ALL OVER HIS MAMMOTH MOUNTAIN
BY DEGREES TAKING ME TO THE STEEPS
at eleven thousand
Son Father descend
10 March 2018
RIDING THE GONDOLA WITH CANADIAN SKI PATROL
ON RETREAT ASSIGNMENT ON MAMMOTH MOUNTAIN
Your Home Mountain? Lake Louise, Banff.
White Pass, Washington State.
What are you doing here?
Skiing with my son.
Runs ski shop. Tunes. Rebuilds skis.
Sharpens what you didn't know was dull.
How'd he get way down here?
I put him on skis when he was 3.
9 March 2018
ASKING TIM BODEEN ABOUT THE SPEED OF HIS SKIS
Maybe 20. Maybe 20 mph.
How fast, now. The truth.
You're understated, aren't you.
You're not hyper bole.
My motto in the shop:
Under promise. Over deliver.
9 March 2018
STUCK ON A CHAIR LIFT
WITH MY SON
AT JUNE MOUNTAIN
A man riding the lift behind us,
Let's get the fuck
out of here,
We don't want
to be close
when the Blue Coats arrive.
9 March 2018
MOTHER QUILT AND CRAZY CLOUD
Finding a song for a friend
I shake my Umqua Oats rattle
while water boils.
Karen sings with the women
singing Cohen songs.
The Mothership goes large
waking in mountains.
Mother Quilt brings snow fields
into cotton and thread. She hands
her love to her son, making
mountain beauty in his one
life given for peak beauty.
She shows a story
of a boundary crossing
dog-eyeing the ancestral
mammoth. She walks
with a man bearing the name
of a Japanese monk
raised by servants, one
fond of odd clouds,
winsome, where he took his name,
Crazy Cloud, 14th Century monk
folk hero to children, vagabond.
One Pause, slow talking
dharma, walking with a blind
seamstress in multi-colored thread.
Karen and Jim. Karen went along.
Storypath/Cuentocamino, a given
word, with unnamed conditions,
confirmed by a Peruvian native,
guide from Macchu Picchu, who spoke
impeccable Castillian. Decades past
carrying the word, following
with limited knowledge, always
on probation. Years before
the arrival of the Mothership.
"Cover your path with fallen needles,"
he was told. "This fake dream is yours,
if you follow," and he did the best
he could, odd in the world, growing
old with his wife saying, "You piss
and moan, yes you do, you piss and moan,"
navigating external pathways he never
understood. His hyphenated life
dreaming, listening for music, deaf
to neighbors and priests.
"You can find what you're looking for
right here," his mother said.
This is when the word arrived.
The two agree. Agreeing to listen
to all of it, he would leave
to understand how, ever-apprenticed.
Camera and notebook. Parker pens.
She would accompany him,
Mother Quilt, herself a god.
6 March--14 March 2018
UMQUA OATS RATTLE
Shaking his Umqua oats in his hand like a rattle, the man listens as his wife sings with the women singing songs of Leonard Cohen: Don't ask for so much--Why not ask for a little bit more. No-Gate spreads his arms making a fence stopping snow, snow stopping wind. Thin mountain air, great mountain beauty, eye-altering, changes the settings on the camera. Every thing as vision-food.
NEVER FORGET INYOWEN SHELTON:
WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE HE BECAME
A BUMPER STICKER ABOVE MONO LAKE
Steel curbing curved around Highway 395
above Mono Lake, entering Sierra Nevadas,
the lookout, curb plastered with bumper stickers--
everything from Micro Beers, to exotic mountains,
one standing out for me: Inyowen Shelton,
Never forget. Some only with his name,
Inyowen Shelton. Karen and Tim
telling me we're in Inyo County--that it,
but it isn't. It isn't even what's posted
on the Net. Let's say the friends got to some truth,
but didn't get to the music of Inyowen's
arcing spirit. The next thing about Inyowen
always belongs. An old teacher said that,
not me. Inyowen had some enemies,
and so did his friends. Let's start there.
What I can tell you about Inyowen
I know from his killer, the one
who found him behind the hospital.
A bumper sticker on the curb, a barrier
to forgetting. Inyowen Shelton, dead
June 20, 2016, internet eulogy. Steward
of the earth, a Tahoe baby, part
Hidatsa, part Chipewa, young sage
scholar of all things natural. Peak bagger.
Hugger of trees in clouds, called Yo
by his friends. The murderers had seen
enough. They bagged him and left him
under leaves. Odd in the world, a monk's
koan. How would his son
become anything other than One Pause?
Good question. I knew
Inyowen from the Krishna parade
in Eugene. He looked at me
until our eyes met, and smiled.
He had me denying his love, looking away.
He entered through my eyes.
Mono Lake, Mammoth, Manzanar, Joshua Tree
6 March 2018--14 March 2018
POST CARDS FROM MANZINAR
Gold Star Highway history
Tumbleweeds in wind
Ball court paint rocks white
Three tumbleweeds circle ball
New nets on steel hoops
Play finds survival
Outside barracks children skate
Yes, Yes, No, No, Hey!
Stones from Sierra
Hand polished patina shine
Artist signed rock art
Stay with family
Segregated by an oath
Not for us, GI!
Hey, I'm a GI
I am you and you are me
What is goin' on
10 March--15 March 2018
STOPPING AT MANZANAR
Folded paper cranes, Origami,
at the front entrance, and before that
the road sign, Blue Star Highway,
and one more, Manzanar,
dropping down from the Sierras,
Sierra Nevada's. Covered in snow,
snow-covered. Beauty of cover,
nieve. Sierra, first the name--
jagged mountain chain, code word
representing the letter S,
used in radio communication,
más profundo: teeth of a saw
in Spanish. Dark feminine
of ciaran. On the street,
Sierra's the type of girl
who brings out the best
in you--the best thing
that ever happened.
from the Sierra Nevada's
to Manzanar. And me?
What just got hit?
My grand daughter
folds Origami cranes.
I was born 9 August 1945.
That day. Between the times,
that time. I belong here,
Manzanar. I taught
that book, Farewell to Manzanar
with my friend and colleague
in a course we called
Braided Lives on Turtle Island.
Shigataganai, we taught our students
to say. Shigataganai. Automatically,
It can't be helped. My daughters
went to Yamate High School
in Yokohama, and lived with the girls
who came here to live in our home,
exchanging intimate slang,
remaining friends. I was born
9 August 1945. While serving
in the Evacuation Hospital
in Vietnam in 1968, I skied
in Zao, nearby where Basho
slept on his journey
to the far north--Basho
neither priest nor ordinary
man, writing poems.
My granddaughter folds paper cranes.
Lonnie Kaneko, poet and friend
(who died two years ago) wrote
Coming Home from Camp.
Kaneko and his parents
were sent to Minidoka, Idaho.
Innocent yet pronounced guilty,
he is invisible. Kaneko, too,
writes in his mother's voice.
Kara Kondo, from Wapato,
in Yakima Valley where
we live, was interred at
Heart Mountain, Wyoming,
worked four decades at
Women's League of Voters,
dying at 89 in 2005. My friend
Louis Fiset, philatelist and printer,
wrote Imprisoned Apart:
World War II Correspondence
of an Issei couple, and Camp Harmony:
Seattle's Japanese Americans
and the Puyallup Assembly Center.
He is also caretaker of cancelled
envelopes carrying censored mail.
My granddaughter folds paper
into cranes. I was born 9 August 1945.
On the way into the Sierra Nevadas
to visit our son, we stopped at
Tule Lake Segregation Center.
Look that one up on your own.
Bonsai became known in America
when GIs returned from WWII
bringing Trees in a Pot, along
with Zen and Buddhism. An apprentice
to the trees myself, what fires
my imagination are Scholar's Rocks,
or Suiseki stones. Suiseki being
Japanese Art of Miniature Landscape
stones. Louis Fiset first told me
this practice was widespread at
Fort Missoula Detention Camp,
as Japanese hand-polished stones
rubbing them with Army issue
blankets. That's probably enough,
eh. Don't rub it in. No, No, Yes, Yes.
Clouds that day, crazy wild,
like the monk, Ikkyu. We
stopped at Manzanar. Spent
ourselves. I found the rock garden
walking out alone. I video-taped
three tumbleweeds circling
the basketball on the outdoor
court. Two balls waiting
for a game. White painted
rocks marking boundary lines.
10 March 2018--14 March 2019
Manzanar National Historical Site/Gila Bend, Az
WAITING FOR KAREN TO REGISTER AT 29 PALMS RV PARK
OUTSIDE OF JOSHUA TREE NATIONAL PARK,
I READ A POEM ABOUT JAMES WRIGHT COUNTRY,
BEYOND EVEN THIS, BY MAGGIE ANDERSON
"There must be a back country of the beyond..."
Más allá que allá
Beyond needle prick blood let
Jumping Jolla Cactus!
12 March 2018
POST CARD FROM WHITE PASS
Shelling left-over peanuts
in bottom of my pack at High Camp,
chased inside by snow, rain, poor
visibility caused by things
having nothing to do with weather--
coffee and orange.
Shells piling up on a napkin.
Mammoth had 3-feet of snow
in 36 hours? Is that possible?
Did I ski with you a week ago?
Your song loud sunshine.
You're red beans and rice of the mountain.
Got soul. Peek at the Minarets.
You're about to take me down
Dave's Run, that much
confidence in your Dad
following his son into snow.
22 March 2018
THE YOUNG CLIMBERS AT JOSHUA TREE HALL OF HORRORS
At the roadside pullout,
a group of them,
young men and women
among old stones,
across the road from Saddle Rocks,
arranged in parallel fashion.
A series of halls.
Faces forming as natural buffers.
On the northwest side of Sheep Pass Loop Road.
The list of classic climbs: Jaws, Lickety Splits, Lazy Day, Nurn's Romp, Buckets to Burbank, It, Ledges to Lawndale, Garden Angel, Dog Day Afternoon, Grit Roof, Cactus Flower, Jane's Addiction.
Highest rating: Exorcist--on the East inner wall. Three and a half-stars out of four. 10.5. Traditional.
At the table in the Mothership with Karen, eating crackers and cheese, watching the young men across from us put on their gear. Their van hatchback open before us, full entry into their wilderness lives. Joshua Tree. The national park where two deserts meet: Colorado and Mojave. Rangers explain it at the Visitor's Center. Young climbers sleep in tents or cars outside the park on BLM lands. Which desert am I? Which desert is Karen? Colorado and Mohave. The Exorcist in the desert. Camera on the table. Sun block and water is what we carry. Light backpack and trekking poles. The National Park established in 1994. Coming out of the Sierra Nevadas on Highway 395, we cut across deserts. The park straddles the cactus-dotted Colorado Desert and the Mojave Desert, higher and cooler. The Deserts distinguish themselves as you drive around the 1,235 miles. We ask the Rangers about the two, Karen and I, completing fifty years of marriage, what are the differences here? We ask each other: Are you California? Are you Mojave?
In the park. Out of the park. Lots going on. Young climbers. Student walkouts. One minute for each of the 17 murdered from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Florida. Students in Arizona march to Governor Doug Ducey's office. He doesn't appear. The papers? "Yes, kids can fix this. Keep up pressure. Hone advocacy skills. Become informed voters." Notes in the Mothership log quote Phoenix journalists from the Arizona Republic. I break quotations into lines.
Our young people
grew up watching adults
eviscerate public education
and genuflect to the NRA.
failed to provide resources
for mental health,
promoted policies that turned
the middle class
into an endangered species.
They are wide-eyed and savvy,
I can't imagine
how that won't upend everything.
It's silly to argue that these kids
what they're doing...
because they have
no ties to the powerful.
is a powerful thing
and these kids have it.
These kids preparing to go up this rock aren't those kids and they are. They're part of this. They know what they've been given. What's here. Rock, piton, rappels, amp. Awareness of who they are still low in the adult world. Their language turns up in crossword puzzle clues. Savvy. Locking carabiner, chalk bag, chalk ball, climbing harness. Tape and hexes. The harness secures a person to a rope, or anchor point. What I come to learn: Carabiners, a specialized shackle, metal loop with a spring-loaded gate, quickly and reversible, connecting components in safety-critical systems. Knife. Sun block. Water.
Joshua Tree. Jumping Chollas.
The rock along the cracks weathers into soil. Over years, rain and wind erode the soil leaving a boulder pile. Look for lines in the rocks called veins. A vein forms when molten rock is pushed into cracks in older rock. As the molten rock cools it forms crystals of quartz and potassium minerals. If the crust pulls away from both sides of a rock, or if the rock shrinks while cooling, vertical cracks form. When pressure on top of a rock releases, like when soil and rock erode away, horizontal cracks form. And when the rock is squeezed from the top and the bottom, x-shaped cracks form. Underground dams force water to the surface and form oases. Early Mormons thought these plants looked like the biblical prophet Joshua guiding travelers westward. Don’t confuse the Mojave yucca with the Joshua tree. Yucca has longer, wider leaves and fibrous threads.
Ropes, locking carabiner, chalk bag, chalk ball, climbing harness, climbing shoes, tape, hexes The harness secures a person to a rope or an anchor point. Carabiners, the specialized shackle, a metal loop with a spring-loaded gate, quickly and reversible connects components in safety-critical systems.
Knife, sun block, water.
How did these young people get here? By what word of mouth?
I love the yucca. My friend plants a yucca garden on the parking strip outside his house in the city. It's a forest. He gives me the stalks. I make gates with them. Chinese gates. Gates with no fences.
Rock Climbers at Joshua Tree
I see them from the Mothership, walk to them.
Small talk. Where are you from? Inland Empire. Ontario.
I was looking for a job in Wenatchee.
Wild fire. I didn’t get the job. Rod. Conner. Jared.
Exoccist. A crack that goes up this rock.
A slight overhang. If you fall. I’ve seen pictures.
Expand. Adds pressure this way. Our protection.
Heavy Pedal Bicycles t shirt.
Brian walks over, ready to climb..
Solo hiker, climber. Do you know these guys?
I just met them right now.
Walk behind them with the camera.
Jangle of the gear, walking.
Listening in. Brian. Steel Structural Framer.
Climbing between jobs.
Between the times.
During the times.
Living the times.
What do I see? And hear?
What does the camera tell me?
What am I to make of the young men in the parking lot, putting on their climbing gear?
Where might they take me?
If I can't go where they're going, I can walk with them a ways.
Their vision. It is not the vision their parents picked out for them.
Immersion is a way into wonder. Immersion is one way.
Immersion is my practice.
I have a pass into the park, but the young live outside it.
A way out of abstract beauty walks here.
A walk into cactus.
Walking into stone.
There’s the Exorcist. There’s the crack.
Are we doing a crack line? I love crack lines.
Haul the pack up on a rope.
How to cross to the big rock?
Approach climb from different direction.
Are you guys safe? I’ll put up an anchor.
This is fucking scary. How are we going to get down?
I think it’s one wrap all the way down.
Fuck. I’ve got to piss.
This one’s got chicken wings.
Toss me a spare beaner.
Oh I hate hauling. Fuck it. Son of a bitch.
We want that backpack.
Getting the four up to the crack.
I wish the start wasn’t so bad.
You’re getting me killed.
Yeah, this is a good day, too.
I felt so bad.
It wasn’t the climbing up part.
No, it was the descent.
Attaching a second rope
to kick the pack out.
There you go. Come on. Just breathe.
You’re in there. Just breathe.
Great feet. Relax. You’re fine.
There you go. One more.
Make your way up right here. Oooh, hello.
The young man who didn’t get the wild fire job summits first.
Oh yeah, And then you got that bolt.
The whistle. Yabba dabba doo
Son of a bitch
Finger locks and hand jams are perfect. you could hang there all day.
Frivolous. No heightened senses, heightened awareness. Life is different.
Energy. Live changing.
Run the rope through the chains and rappel back to desert floor.
Behind the camera. Behind the stone.
Permission to watch and walk.
Not able to do much. Steady the camera. Wonder.
Neither enthralled nor enamored with me, or the camera.
My walk with the kids climbing on stones.
Jesus doesn't stay in the parking lot.
A subversive feeling, this reaching,
this bag of chalk
hitched to my belt
at the back pocket.
13 March--30 March 2018
Joshua Tree National Park--Yakima, WA
CODA: LINES FOR THE YOUNG ROCK CLIMBERS
So sick So sick
30 March 2018
30 March 2018
DAD, TELL MOM,
Karen and I went to Spring Training!
Tell Mom. We saw two games.
Saw the kids, her boys,
ones trying to make it
to the bigs. Now we know--
something what Mom and Phyllis
felt, being there. More fun watching
kids with no names on jerseys
than stars playing two innings.
Dad, this, first time
we've been back since Mom
left Seattle to come be with us.
20 years? Just about. When
Mom came to Yakima, ushers
talked to the suits, they took
out her seats, mounted them--
Chuck has them now. The kids
have started the talk, who gets
the seats when we go. Dad,
she's with you now. Eternity
good for you both. Seven years
for Mom on her birthday. Can't
imagine that makes sense; see
Mom calm with you, your quiet smile.
CRAZY CLOUD AND IKKYU AT SPRING TRAINING
One monk walks around the ball park
looking at young women in baseball hats
while the other one hangs out
with old timer's autographing balls.
Not so different, these two.
Back in their seats
one monk tells the other one
about the baby blue Cadillac
Charley Finley bought Vida Blue
in 1971. Blue was 21.
That's what he told Finley,
Get me a Camaro.
No dice on the Chevy.
Finley gives Blue
and a credit card for gas.
Every time he fills up
at the station, Vida filled
two tanks--his own,
and the guy's behind him.
Which monk told the story
and which one listened?
Crazy Cloud has the picture
of Blue holding the signed baseball.
Ikkyu has the ball in his pocket
for his grandson.
No-Gate Gateway wants
nothing to do with this game.
No, no, no, No-Gate says.
Don't start with who raised the blinds,
who didn't. None of that.
Enough of knowing, No-Gate says,
Be done with it!
Read any gatha and you won't be ruined.
31 March 2018
OUTSIDE OF BOOMTOWN, BOOK SHORT,
STEINBECK AND CHARLEY, OLD COMPANIONS
SINCE HIGH SCHOOL, CHARMS IN THE MOTHERSHIP,
WITH LITERARY ROOTS, FURTHER
With me since I was 16, a decade with Crazy Cloud,
slow it to breath and breathing.
Quixote's horse, Rocinante, dressed in Dodge Ram
silver, old leather. Steinbeck more of a father
than the others, more difficult for this. Unrecognized
but not unknown. We do not take a trip,
a trip takes us. Descending from fame,
its own anonymity, bumdom, he calls it,
...the bum must relax. He can't see
cities of homeless descending with him,
I had not heard the speech of America--
you wouldn't know it now. So it was
I determined to look again, to rediscover
I determined to look again, to rediscover
this monster land...I had to go alone
and I had to be self-contained. That
thread, Charlie, the French poodle
from Paris, on his way to getting lost.
Saving water in the mothership.
Karen, my navigating companion
since before my birth. Steinbeck's
10,000 miles and 34 states, not recognized
once. Karen shows me images of an artist
who claims her images from dreams,
working in fabric, We are wrapped
in cloth from birth to death, can
we be any closer? Big winds
out of Reno towards Carson City,
Mothership rocking, and my hands
weary from holding the wheel. Text
arriving from Mammoth, Big storm
coming in. Did you fix the curtain?
Karen asks. Travels with Charley and Karen.
Mammoth Mountain is a series
of lava domes formed 60,000 years ago,
still producing hazardous gasses. Steinbeck
recreates 1961 in Charley, reads
William Shirer's Third Reich the same year
I do at 15. He reads Joseph Addison,
sentences like this: I have found
many readers more interested in what I wear
than what I think. For every million
cell phones recycled, 772 pounds of silver,
75 pounds of gold recovered in our time.
False scarcity the mantra of politicians.
Steinbeck hangs a bucket on a rope
to wash his clothes in Rocinante.
No Manzanar visitor's center for Steinbeck.
Or Tule Segregation Camp terrorizing sensibility.
The map to rehabilitation a study in horror.
Washing dishes thinking of my carbon footprint.
Steinbeck is 58 with Charley. I'm 72.
He makes fun of hunters and guns.
You can do that, then. Best story
in the book, explores Spanish
verb, vacilar, present participle,
vacilante--a false cognate. He's
been listening, not vacillating at all.
"If one has been vacilando,
he is going somewhere but doesn't care
if he gets there." Tears of the moon,
teasing the young teacher.
Play now, play next,
let rhythm make us free.
Put your manos in the sky
Venimos a vacilar.
Steinbeck finishes in Texas, New Orleans.
Myth. Reality. Roots. Lost.
Bravado and humility. Who are we?
Earlier in Sauk Center with Sinclair Lewis,
my first American hero. He knows Red,
drinks with him. My grandma and I
stop there in 1964, driving my red
Austin Healey Sprite with tears in my eyes.
Steinbeck's greatest wisdom, I did not know.--
I neglected my country too long. Believe me,
his country didn't wait. He writes,
We know so little of our own geography.
You got that right, John. You listened
everywhere, and myth wipes out the facts.
That's prophecy, and you're on it.
6 March--28 March 2018
POST CARD TO DENI SEYMOUR, ARCHAEOLOGIST
AT THE HEARD MUSEUM, ON APACHE ANTLERS
and their stash.
Dateways and gateways.
A big wind brings down
your tipi. Cache
some food in a pot.
Cover your treasure
Rings and circles.
Don't look one way.
Earliest Apaches passed
through here, early 1300s.
Climb more mountains.
My mountain spirit headdress.
These antlers. These.
Know the way to water.
Not hard to find
See through answers
Rope to rope.
Knowing the way with no rope.
I heard someone else.
One spot of ink on paper.
T.C. Cannon The Circle Is the Essence of Forever
Heard Museum, Phoenix, 2017-2018. Tommy Wayne Cannon (September 27, 1946—May 8 1978) was born in Lawton, Oklahoma, to a Kiowa father and a Caddo mother. He was given the name Pai-doung-u-day, which translates into “One Who Stands in The Sun.” He was a decorated Vietnam Veteran, and served with the 101st Airborne during 1968-69. He died in an automobile accident in 1978.
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