Wonderful...thinking today on Thanksgiving of meeting the woman who would venture with me from Tacoma to Albuquerque, who would buy a crack house now called ‘Bunnytown’ (38 years ago) and...renovate a church and call it the AirDance ArtSpace (21 years) , and a whole life for me before leaving Jacksonville, Florida (30 years), and now opening arms with me to what is next.
Sweet is a good word to describe this poem. My partner and I have somewhat disparate backgrounds, she is from SoCal and I've lived in Washington my entire life. More importantly, our home of 23 years is our place of peace and sanctuary. Thanks Sherman
Thank you for the gift of this sweet poem. For sharing a glimpse into the life your family lives in two worlds. And thank you for sharing it in a format that allows me to read the words then hear them spoken in your voice. I especially loved hearing you say that this process brings you joy, too.
The end of this poem (“where the ceremonies are private / don't need to be translated”) reminds me of a visit I made to the UNESCO-restored Pueblo of Taos in 2017. The pueblo’s RC chapel was intact and the paintings on the walls had been touched up. The tour guide said, “The devotion and worship that takes place here blend elements of Roman Catholicism with our own private traditions. It would be disrespectful for me to say anymore about those.” I thought that was a marvelous way of putting it. There was a cemetery at the edge of the pueblo and the grave markers, many of which were simple wooden crosses, were decorated in a way you might expect to see in an RC cemetery anywhere else in the world: rosaries, saints in frames, etc. But there were other adornments to the graves that were unfamiliar to me but nevertheless moving in their mysteriousness. And what made these symbols powerful was that I had been restricted and shut out from knowing what they meant.
That is great to hear. As a Native writer working in the Western Civ tradition, I sometimes have too do a balancing act when writing about my tribal culure. What do I reveal? What do I keep private? And I do what I call "keeping out of the sweatlodge," which is akin to "staying out of the confessional." So I write very minimally about Native spiritual practices. Other Native writers make other choices.
I remember seeing you at Tucson High,Poetry Festival. You said it was a revolution to marry a Native Woman and raise happy children. Viva la Revolution ❤️
I open my emails from you as a treat to me. Sometimes it's worth having to wait for the email to let me come in to post, usually I don't, always I am awarded for reading. Thank you for sharing.
And a joyous rez it is, resonating with love, geniality, honesty, in-your-face hilarity, and the joy of raising up a new generation of rice-cranberry-salmon young ones, gifts to that white world outside and beautiful fulfillment to the Hidatsa/Spokane originators within--and without, for you are fully present in both worlds. And we, the melanin-deprived, are grateful.
Wonderful...thinking today on Thanksgiving of meeting the woman who would venture with me from Tacoma to Albuquerque, who would buy a crack house now called ‘Bunnytown’ (38 years ago) and...renovate a church and call it the AirDance ArtSpace (21 years) , and a whole life for me before leaving Jacksonville, Florida (30 years), and now opening arms with me to what is next.
The essence of home and marriage 💜
Sweet is a good word to describe this poem. My partner and I have somewhat disparate backgrounds, she is from SoCal and I've lived in Washington my entire life. More importantly, our home of 23 years is our place of peace and sanctuary. Thanks Sherman
Thank you, Steve.
Thank you for the gift of this sweet poem. For sharing a glimpse into the life your family lives in two worlds. And thank you for sharing it in a format that allows me to read the words then hear them spoken in your voice. I especially loved hearing you say that this process brings you joy, too.
Thank you, Melody. And the recordings sure feed my stage performance addiction!
The end of this poem (“where the ceremonies are private / don't need to be translated”) reminds me of a visit I made to the UNESCO-restored Pueblo of Taos in 2017. The pueblo’s RC chapel was intact and the paintings on the walls had been touched up. The tour guide said, “The devotion and worship that takes place here blend elements of Roman Catholicism with our own private traditions. It would be disrespectful for me to say anymore about those.” I thought that was a marvelous way of putting it. There was a cemetery at the edge of the pueblo and the grave markers, many of which were simple wooden crosses, were decorated in a way you might expect to see in an RC cemetery anywhere else in the world: rosaries, saints in frames, etc. But there were other adornments to the graves that were unfamiliar to me but nevertheless moving in their mysteriousness. And what made these symbols powerful was that I had been restricted and shut out from knowing what they meant.
That is great to hear. As a Native writer working in the Western Civ tradition, I sometimes have too do a balancing act when writing about my tribal culure. What do I reveal? What do I keep private? And I do what I call "keeping out of the sweatlodge," which is akin to "staying out of the confessional." So I write very minimally about Native spiritual practices. Other Native writers make other choices.
I remember seeing you at Tucson High,Poetry Festival. You said it was a revolution to marry a Native Woman and raise happy children. Viva la Revolution ❤️
Beautiful tribute to love, marriage, and home. Wonderful poetry as always!
I open my emails from you as a treat to me. Sometimes it's worth having to wait for the email to let me come in to post, usually I don't, always I am awarded for reading. Thank you for sharing.
Such a kind thing to say. Thank you!
Feeling the love of sanctuary!
Ah, "Sanctuary" might be a better title for the poem.
No extra charge! Lol!
Substack Alexie - rocking in the worlds between. So good to read love poems anytime anyplace.
Thank you, Anne-Marie!
And a joyous rez it is, resonating with love, geniality, honesty, in-your-face hilarity, and the joy of raising up a new generation of rice-cranberry-salmon young ones, gifts to that white world outside and beautiful fulfillment to the Hidatsa/Spokane originators within--and without, for you are fully present in both worlds. And we, the melanin-deprived, are grateful.
"rice-cranberry-salmon young ones"
I love that, Kerry. Thank you!
I love this so much!
Thank you, Maria!
Simply love. ❤️
Thank you, Gael.
Beautiful
Thank you, Yvonne.
A sweet and delicate poem Sherman, a political one as well. Reservation, white world, the door between.
Yes!
Yes, I tried to represent that door between with line and stanza breaks, particularly the "reservation kids//gone urban" break.
Love it! Love you both and each.
Thank you, Dick! We love you.