Sing into the thunder drum
crow hopping from one foot to
The other, and hops will follow
My chants and dancing as I invoke
Crow’s wings with my arms
Extended in the falling snow,
hovering into the darkness,
my spine vibrating to the sound
of my voice, until leaves become
buried under this frozen terrain,
the few times you were sober making
amends to be better to yourself,
the neglected curse, left in that
two-bedroom white house
in her light oak cradle board,
the child with your Pomo face and her
father’s light skin, until the universe brought
you home to me in ashes to sprinkle
back over dampened earth,
The sun cradling tea
colored plumes.
