that a bird still sings

how is it that a bird still sings
in this very same world in which
brutalized native american women’s bodies
are only identifiable by their bones
in clusters and heaps
where the rest of them were eaten
by the pigs they were left to be ransacked by
after surviving various assaults
how can the stupid jokes we make
and all that laughter that ensues,
how can the blood-brilliant sunset sky,
how can song and supermarkets and cuddly cats and
emory’s laughter and the monarch in the imp shed yard
and the sickle of a silver moon all still exist/keep going on
in a world where those women’s bones
rattle in the land
how has everything not stopped,
how have we not stopped, overcome with sickness and grief –
proclaiming a refusal to move forward
into the everydayness
until all the rage has moved/burned through
until these bones rise to howl their stories til their
oppressor’s/assaulters ears blood off
queuing all other bones
buried en masse and inhumanely
arise and assemble themselves
into their rightful shapes

i have never known the terror
of being tossed to the pigs
to be ripped bone by bone
but i carry it in my cells,
my breath,
my bloodpulse
as i carry myself through this world
where horror unfolds
while birds still
insist on singing
(which isn’t to say
oh-watch me tie this up in a ribbon of pretty and perfect
but more, to still be baffled
by the complexity
of such brutal violences
playing out alongside
such gorgeousness and mundanity)
mama cat approach-avoiding
and after only fleeting glimpses
over the past year
we finally have contact
when i crouch on the dirt floor
of the metal shop and she eventually
brings her face up to my outstretched hand
how i love her rust/white coloring
and softness and how she is a talkative purr-er
just like her babies
the glimmer/sheen of water
gathered during the recent rain
on the 55-gallon drum lid

was it good i ask
when tyler tells me we made out
in his dream last night
(and that i was half me and half someone else)
the lights/shadow in the
bathroom and kitchen flickering
with the wind as it (the light) filters through
swaying branches before it glows down
through the sun tubes
this is what it would be like
if we owned/ran a restaurant together
i joke with mica
you’d have your side
and do things your way there and i’d
have my side and do things my way on it
we’ll work side by side she says
but not together
as she blackens the green beans and i

finagle with the spanish tortilla

when i ask if she’ll play tetherball (since it’s right here)
mica says on one condition- we have to use our left hands
(since her right one
with the once-broken wrist
has been bothering her)
and we whoop and laugh and swat and mis-hit and
i joke about how if we filmed us
we’d surly look like
we were trying to play while drunk
mica and i cheers-ing each other
with cherry tomatoes (ting!)
not enough fruit to share with the entire group
yet enough to share with one friend

from the water world:
A Filipino girl is carried along a flooded road in suburban Mandaluyong, east of Manila, Philippines, as monsoon downpours intensify while Typhoon Nepartak exits the country. – voice of america, day in photos

People use excavators as they make their way to work through floodwaters in Wuhan, Hubei province, China. – voice of america, day in photos

Israeli Arabs stand under a waterfall during the Eid al-Fitr holiday at the Gan HaShlosha national park near the northern Israeli town of Beit Shean. Eid al-Fitr marks the end of the Muslim holy fasting month of Ramadan. – voice of america, day in photos


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