Category: Poetry Refined - ER.rant IN.tersection

peyote summer

8/4/2014

I spent a significant portion of my childhood as a little white girl tag-along to my parents explorations of the midwestern pan-native american culture and spirituality. It was a time of great joy for me, one I wouldn't ever trade, and one that I wonder about creating for my own children in the sense of giving them some type of experience that helps them to connect more to the earth and all the amazingly vast cultures in it.

As an adult looking back, I am very aware of the conflict my white ethnicity caused for some, and how the dual worlds, or identities, I inhabited battled in my subconscious. The poem, peyote summer, isn't about any of these things directly, but as I'm telling it in the present tense somewhere between my 7 and 11 year-old self, these realities will show themselves here and there throughout the poem.

The poem is dedicated to Jesse, another white kid who shared many similar experiences growing up as I did, and kept me company on the evening of this poem.

unnatural nature

7/25/2014

I was introduced to the poetry of Michelle Boisseau when her husband was a professor of mine at the University of Missouri, Columbia. He was an energetic linguist who made me love the OED and diagramming sentences so complex we had to paste paper together across a classroom wall for them to make sense. He mentioned once or twice that his wife was a poet, so I investigated and bought one of her books. Understory. It is her second book, and quickly became one of my favorites. This poem, unnatural nature, was inspired by Blood Sonata from Understory.

Written long before I had my own children, it highlights a belief that each new adventure started, or part left behind, was some sort of "birth". It was like starting over. But this isn't really what becoming a mother is like at all. When I gave birth, I didn't begin again, I reconnected to my past more concretely. Like the double helix of our DNA, my life as a mother now spirals upward connecting to all the people and moments that defined me, over and over, through multiple dimensions.

To be honest, I don't really like this poem. I'm not sure where I was going with it, or maybe am just too disconnected from it, but I do like what it reminds me of. I'm not sure it will remind anyone else about anything at all, though. Every time I open up this post, I make a revision to it. Who knows which version you are reading.

Missouri rain

6/9/2014

The original version of this poem, titled rain, was written sometime before 2005 (my post-mom brain doesn't remember dates). Two days ago, while hauling four truck loads of rock through two thunderstorms and a too-close tornado (see cleansing truths), my fascination with storms was reinforced, again. This morning I stumbled across rain, and it seemed appropriate to revisit the poem. It has a few revisions, but not many, and a new title. Enjoy Missouri rain, and a slightly altered image excerpt.

Once a part of White Girl Can't Fancy Dance, I'm still not sure with which collection it best fits. Any ideas?

lost feathers

5/21/2014

I've heard advice about imagining what you want, no matter how small. In some ways, this was one such attempt. It fell into a rhythmic dream, a swirling pattern of cedar smudge smoke rising up around a version of me where past and future mingled.

I've been asked how to read this poem. As three columns? Across and over? The answer is "yes". I've read it many ways. I think they all work, and each offer something a little different. I'd love to know what you think.

shutters

5/19/2014

When I moved to Portland, Oregon, I was amazed by the rain that never stormed (and so missed storms eventually), and that houses had shutters solely for decoration. I've seen houses in Missouri that have these now as well, but couldn't get over the initial shock of not being able to close the shutters. After 14 years in Oregon, I understand there really is no purpose for functional shutters there, but seeing them always stirred Missouri memories, brief reflections of my life's journey (so far), and a strange longing for the power of a storm. I thought the constant winter rain of the Pacific Northwest would be cleansing, or at least refreshing, and in many ways it was, but it never succeeded in fully wiping the slate clean. In some ways I think a Midwestern storm can do that, and even if my house had shutters now (which it doesn't), I'm not sure I'd close them in a storm. Unless, of course, it was a tornado.

bare

5/7/2014

A good hike is filled with scenery, discovery, and nostalgia. I wish the days were long enough and the trails close enough to hike everyday. Instead, there is always poetry.
New revision, January 8, 2015...

the sages

5/1/2014

It's time for a little humor! The narrative elements in my poems are typically taken from real events. "the sages" is from a friend's story about an unexpected visitor. Humor and spirituality often go hand-in-hand. Poor visitor though; I'm not sure he found what he was looking for. The White Girl Can't Fancy Dance poems are a collection, often humorous or layered with humor, about spending time as a white girl in various Native American communities.

hunger

4/16/2014

As is often the case with my poetry, I use the actual details of things in my environment to explain what I am feeling or convey an emotion. Sometimes this is through memories reaching up to the present, other times the metaphor collides in space and time. "hunger" is one such collision. The entire poem is contained in the image. I've also included the text below.

together we run

4/15/2014

Written in memory of 4.15.2013 and the moment of silence at the start of the Big Sur Marathon 13 day after...

to this finish

4/15/2014