Art and Poetry
Pagans for Peace
I
You lean into me and whisper:
javelinas are in the wash listening to the music.
Grandma is reclining in the clearing,
maintaining her circle of protection,
enjoying the drums
and tolerant of desert cottontails
running circles around her bristly body.
Mom is grazing on the brittlebush and teaching the reds
good things to eat --
grooving on hoofed toes,
her snout strips branches
as she eyes us from the side.
The reds are shimmying around the clearing,
jiggling their ears and tails.
Toddlers, really:
too young to know thirst
and in thrall with the cool twilight of a lush late spring.
II
I lean into you and say
we are Sonoran wildlife.
We may place a veneer of civilization over our hearts,
our talismans of identities
plasters to protect against the pain,
but from Earth and Sky
we come and shall return.
Perhaps you will come back as the raven,
hollering from the mesquite
angry as you please
because you arrived for a drink and a bath.
only to find song interrupting your routine.
Or you may come as the jumping spider,
traversing great cracks in the land
with bimodal breathing and expert vision,
vibrating your way home
where you will weave rhythms into dreams.
And perhaps I will arrive as the scorpion
suddenly sliding down your arm
when you disrupt my perch.
I have no doubt that we will enjoy the castanets
of your electric coil!
III
You look at me and declare
we are wild folk.
With our jaws
we grip and chomp,
each of us hungry to claim what is ours
before the next predator arrives
to take what is theirs.
With weary eyes
we watch over the little ones,
skittish heirs to a history
of displacement and genocide,
praying for rain.
With our throats
We shout from treetops,
unsettled by the radioactive heat of today
and cloaked tomorrows.
With our bodies
we stake out space,
asking ourselves how to forgive
when you have stung and I have killed.
Yet we are together
when the rising moon
illuminates the backbeats of connection,
our spirits radically open to love.
IV
Look at us I laugh
dancing like pagans for peace!
I
You lean into me and whisper:
javelinas are in the wash listening to the music.
Grandma is reclining in the clearing,
maintaining her circle of protection,
enjoying the drums
and tolerant of desert cottontails
running circles around her bristly body.
Mom is grazing on the brittlebush and teaching the reds
good things to eat --
grooving on hoofed toes,
her snout strips branches
as she eyes us from the side.
The reds are shimmying around the clearing,
jiggling their ears and tails.
Toddlers, really:
too young to know thirst
and in thrall with the cool twilight of a lush late spring.
II
I lean into you and say
we are Sonoran wildlife.
We may place a veneer of civilization over our hearts,
our talismans of identities
plasters to protect against the pain,
but from Earth and Sky
we come and shall return.
Perhaps you will come back as the raven,
hollering from the mesquite
angry as you please
because you arrived for a drink and a bath.
only to find song interrupting your routine.
Or you may come as the jumping spider,
traversing great cracks in the land
with bimodal breathing and expert vision,
vibrating your way home
where you will weave rhythms into dreams.
And perhaps I will arrive as the scorpion
suddenly sliding down your arm
when you disrupt my perch.
I have no doubt that we will enjoy the castanets
of your electric coil!
III
You look at me and declare
we are wild folk.
With our jaws
we grip and chomp,
each of us hungry to claim what is ours
before the next predator arrives
to take what is theirs.
With weary eyes
we watch over the little ones,
skittish heirs to a history
of displacement and genocide,
praying for rain.
With our throats
We shout from treetops,
unsettled by the radioactive heat of today
and cloaked tomorrows.
With our bodies
we stake out space,
asking ourselves how to forgive
when you have stung and I have killed.
Yet we are together
when the rising moon
illuminates the backbeats of connection,
our spirits radically open to love.
IV
Look at us I laugh
dancing like pagans for peace!
