u’ns’tsi A’da

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I found them. Perfect red radishes

on a 60 degree December day

While sun shimmers with snow dogs.
Overhead, jets howl and echo in ice carved tunnels.

Harbingers of flurries. These radishes are the last.

If one wonders how I knew radishes were hiding

Under fall’s brittle remnants.
Leaves curled white by frost

I could hear them,

I guess.

 

They found me. Amid semis and decorations.
Letters that fluttered down on me like peculiar butterflies.

Symbols slipped from a  passing plane
Or maybe from a UFO?

I looked up to see if I might catch just one more

rippling from sky. But these were the last.

Oh, but I’ve see Them. Once before.
UFOs that is.

Not on an occluded starless night

When fog hides a myriad of fears.

No in heat of summer.
Their formations hovering motionless for a full

Wild Blue day over yonder Pawnee Buttes.

Searching, I thought they were, for smoke signals from lost tipis.

I hear a Chinook wind retreating now

I smell Crystal flakes swirling off Twin Peaks.

I can hear my ancestors singing near home  fires

Under a late December moon. Hearing the whispers of Others

 They would have called for me, then

a’da   hi’wi’ni   a’ga’li   u’lo’gi’lv

Woman Who Talks to Sun Clouds 

 

2 comments

  1. okay – let us try this posting again!…CFW..thank you for your verncular, your wisdoms of words in your prose..kid. you can smell those radishes too.. and oh yes to the lights in the sky – have seen them too…

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