Poem - Pilled Flannels

It is time for a new poem here! I have been writing tons of poetry lately but I felt like digging this one out from a few months ago.

Pilled Flannels

April 14, 2008

"Burnt coffee," she said "is better than no coffee..."
And carried on in her day,
Surprised by the lack of delights,
And love,
Tripping over bottles,
No exclaiming in a surprise of wonder,
Dripping walls,
From the dripping Earth,
Eagle speaks,
She can't respond to Eagle,
Hand over mouth,
In agony,
Numb,
Bearing witness to horrid images,
Demons in Native bodies,
Because of annihilation,
Alcohol drips down the walls,
In the homes of,
In the land of,
Native people,
She looks down and touches her flannel shirt,
That is pilling,
And stares out the window,
The children play outside,
After dark,
Where is their Mother,
Where is their Father,
And the curtains are drawn,
Silence that hurts,
"The land still holds us..."
She says while lighting a cigarette,
Shaky,
Trying to find grounding,
Like kicking pebbles down the road,
She watches her groundlessness take her away,
Remembering her hair being cut,
And her hands tied,
Not to the land,
Not to Spirit,
But to disharmony,
To imbalance,
And weaving her way out of this,
Growing her hair long,
Speaking her language,
Cooking traditional foods,
Connecting with the land,
Earth,
Mother,
Without fear of being torn away from it,
Delicate she touches the Earth,
Loves the animals,
Plants,
Water,
Sky,
She's remembering all of this,
In the darkness,
But rebirth,
That she is holding ever so delicately in her hands.