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Ode to Flight In the morning sky, two hundred birds turn as one with gorgeous symmetry. O, my love, let's fold together and become one thrumming wing.
Lifetime Membership My father's riding lawnmower— unused since his death twenty years ago—still sits in the front yard of our reservation home. It's on permanent exhibit in the Museum of Never Letting Go.
Humanism People are my steeple.
High School If you haven't sprinted with your best friends through a midnight field and been clotheslined by a barbed wire fence then you don't know me like the white farm town boys who gently lifted me from the dirt and marveled at the constellation of little wounds sparkling red across my shirt.
Hunger Psalm After the Indian money was gone and we'd eaten the last of the food, our mother and father drove to Spokane and pawned their wedding rings for the cash to pay for the eggs, hamburger, milk, and electric bill. Then we Indian siblings ate our fill. Thank God for our parents' wedding bands. O, praise, O, praise his and her left hand.
Love all of these! I look so forward to see what you share next.
Gorgeous! The way the request to fold together, one thrumming wing speaks to never letting go and then to the steeple and then to two hands, his and hers.