Living in southern AZ and often driving through many a border patrol check point in the US and fedérale and other check points in Chihuahua and Sonora, I know my 63 year old white face gives me a pass that my darker skinned brothers and sisters do not receive. I feel it every time that I am flagged through.
LOL...I was going to say something like "rez accent" in my comment but was worried it would be taken the wrong way. At any rate, I love the accent, it breaths a separate life into the words.
I lived a few miles from the CA/Mexico border and border patrol were plentiful to say the least. I always felt like this when they came up beside me on the freeway or on the old road. As a brown skinned woman driving a full size Bronco I knew what they saw when they looked at me.
Ah, "Omne trium perfectum." It's proverbial & you don't even need to have taken Latin to translate it! BUT does Latin retain any of its edge here in the 21st century? I doubt it. I'd love to see you transform this one into a villanelle--but then that's MY hang-up!
During the 71 Mayday protest, I hitchhiked from Norfolk Virginian to overthrow the government in Washington DC. We dropped some acid, listened to the Beach Boys, watched American flags being ripped from the flagpoles around the monument, and left the next morning before Nixon arrested everybody. On the way out, somewhat hungover (orange sunshine), we wandered into the wrong black neighborhood, but finally made it to a Beltway onramp. A police car pulled up about 10 feet away, and the young officer on the passenger side looked at me and held up his middle finger. Sure, my hair was longer, but do you think he thought I was an Indian?
Good on you for sharing your "first draft" - ha - at workshops and at school they drill into us that there is no such thing as something publishable in the first breath. You have proven them wrong maestro!
I love your poem and especially the way it works with your title. I have had the experience you describe--having a fully formed poem in my mind that simply needs to come out. I think this is one way our brains (or subconscious perhaps) has of processing trauma or other events that we are working on. I do this in dreams too, so maybe this is a poetic state like Samuel Taylor Coleridge describes in Kubla Khan:
Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Maybe the milk and honey live in our subconscious or in our dreams.
You are always inspiring me to think. Thanks and have a wonderful day!
Hahahaha. Thank you. I just got off a Zoom visit with a First Nations reserve school up in Canada so their rez accents really have mine going right now.
Ouch. I hope that's changed. Great poem. Reaches straight for the heart.
I experienced just a tiny percentage of that fear in my long haired hippy days.
Being a WASP, I never truly feared the police back then.
"Not from the neighborhood" has a lot of definitions.
Living in southern AZ and often driving through many a border patrol check point in the US and fedérale and other check points in Chihuahua and Sonora, I know my 63 year old white face gives me a pass that my darker skinned brothers and sisters do not receive. I feel it every time that I am flagged through.
Great!
Sadness enveloped me when I read this poem.
Yes. It is a sad poem.
Yes, I also choose coffee over opium. Thankfully, the coffee works just as well for some of us!
Yes!
Interesting to hear you speak your poems. Not only the cadence but your accent.
I revert to my rez accent when reading certain poems. I can call it back at any point. But I have a lisping tenor!
LOL...I was going to say something like "rez accent" in my comment but was worried it would be taken the wrong way. At any rate, I love the accent, it breaths a separate life into the words.
I lived a few miles from the CA/Mexico border and border patrol were plentiful to say the least. I always felt like this when they came up beside me on the freeway or on the old road. As a brown skinned woman driving a full size Bronco I knew what they saw when they looked at me.
Yes, yes.
Ah, "Omne trium perfectum." It's proverbial & you don't even need to have taken Latin to translate it! BUT does Latin retain any of its edge here in the 21st century? I doubt it. I'd love to see you transform this one into a villanelle--but then that's MY hang-up!
I accept your challenge!
During the 71 Mayday protest, I hitchhiked from Norfolk Virginian to overthrow the government in Washington DC. We dropped some acid, listened to the Beach Boys, watched American flags being ripped from the flagpoles around the monument, and left the next morning before Nixon arrested everybody. On the way out, somewhat hungover (orange sunshine), we wandered into the wrong black neighborhood, but finally made it to a Beltway onramp. A police car pulled up about 10 feet away, and the young officer on the passenger side looked at me and held up his middle finger. Sure, my hair was longer, but do you think he thought I was an Indian?
I think he probably thought you were a nomad on a big adventure. Or so I hope.
Absolutely. Like the poem very much. Just a few words takes one right there.
The sound of rain behind your words - WOW!
Good on you for sharing your "first draft" - ha - at workshops and at school they drill into us that there is no such thing as something publishable in the first breath. You have proven them wrong maestro!
Hahahaha. Thank you. That's one of the best things about Substack. Immediate publishing.
Laconic and lapidary. ✍️👏
Oh, lapidary is a huge coompliment! Thank you. Also, Ladonic & Lapidary sounds like a very good law firm.
Haha!! Laconic & Lapidary, Inc
I love your poem and especially the way it works with your title. I have had the experience you describe--having a fully formed poem in my mind that simply needs to come out. I think this is one way our brains (or subconscious perhaps) has of processing trauma or other events that we are working on. I do this in dreams too, so maybe this is a poetic state like Samuel Taylor Coleridge describes in Kubla Khan:
Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Maybe the milk and honey live in our subconscious or in our dreams.
You are always inspiring me to think. Thanks and have a wonderful day!
I think I remember Coleridge was on opium when that poem came too him. I was on an almond milk latte.
nice poem
Thank you.
I like all Indian poems. Am mostly hating everyone else and I’m not Indian. I like hearing your rez voice.
Hahahaha. Thank you. I just got off a Zoom visit with a First Nations reserve school up in Canada so their rez accents really have mine going right now.
YES!
Thank you, Tomas.