the feast that fills the table

talcum morning moon easing itself
swollen into horizon
while sun gold gilds opposite
with its first breaks of light
and me standing out there in
sober morning mesa cold
directly in the middle of the two
agitating is the word i use with baigz
across the sage brush expanse
to describe what herding sheep is like
when we are trying to get them to go
where they don’t want to go
which is what we’ve just spent a good
half hour doing
such a different experience i say
than letting them go where they want

like nailing jellow to a tree baigz says later
about getting those sheep to move with us
your hands are cold says alton as we greet/shake
and i say how good it is to see him
i should warm them up he says more
with his eyes/smile than he does with his words
and sandwiches my palms
small and weathered between his own
softwarm surrounding
culminating some of our ongoing jokes into a single line:
HoTerra oils, featuring: grandmother’s wintergreen,
true/false blend,
juniper sap,
turkey grease/dishwater
and our offical HoTerra representatives:
(dish)pan (as in half goat half man)
and medusa-zeus (or mezeusa)
how alton thanks us before we eat our portions
of the feast that fills the entire table
acknowledging that we have families too
and how meaningful it is that we are here
until the clouds break themselves up a bit,
cold numb fingers, cold cheeks, and
magnificent sun-cloud streaks
contrasted against unfathomable blue
that full moon milton says means it’s already december
on the navajo calender

how it heals
to send my voice
on the colorado plateau
over and over again what words i can remember
from that sinead o’conner song
thank you for hearing me
thank you for saying baby
thanks for silence with me
thank you for breaking my heart
thank you for tearing me apart
now i’ve a strong, strong heart
thank you for breaking my heart
and including my own:
thank you for playing with me
thank you for ridiculousity
thank you for possibility
thank you for dreaming with me

something about walking in from the sobering cold
into the humming heat of wood stove +
so many humans in one room
and how my face blazes
and my spirit feels welcomed
by pualette, by tiphini, by alton, by patti,
by the sun coming through the windows and
the bouquet on the table and
all the kiddos who now know my name
swirling around


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