Originally posted 11/30/2013.
I will again
call this place “ours”
when we can bury our dead our way
and be buried here that way
when the old blood in the soil
stops weeping from loneliness
I will again
call this place “ours”
when we can plant trees here and feel safe
about our grandchildren living to see them
when those future forests again shrug
at our presence as matter of fact
I will again
call this place “ours”
when the names we give places
hold a music that pulls the land into shape
when we forget how to ghost dance
because it’s become unnecessary
when we don’t dance
for you
when we break the last camera
you’ve smuggled into our homes
when we stop you
from plucking
pointless feathers from thin air
and planting them in your hair
when we open up the shame vault and tell you
no your grandmother likely wasn’t
and if she was
it might have been by force
and ask you if it was by love
why you don’t know her name
I will again
call this place “ours”
when we stop being angry long enough
to pity you
and to laugh more than a little at you
when I realize
that I can call this place “ours”
any time I want
because after all this time
in spite of all that’s happened
it still is
it just is
Dark Matter 
November 2nd, 2014 at 5:21 am
“When the old blood in the soil stops weeping from loneliness” This image gives me chills. It is so powerful, sad yet still beautiful.
A song or a prayer.
November 3rd, 2014 at 3:09 pm
Thank you for that.
November 3rd, 2014 at 3:15 pm
Thank you!