navajo

 		 
 
If I were born Navajo
I might greet the dawn with corn pollen

but here on Cliff Island
in the cold silence of November morning

crows
fly close overhead
cawing, calling

before the sun lifts up
behind dark spruce in the east
the sky is pink blue muted
like of of those religious paintings

I leave my sleep
open the door with one window
and on the ledges
throw the handful
of cracked corn
to the spirits

  
  copyright © 2001-2006 by Kat Farrin  
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