APRIL FEATURED POET Big Ev
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I’ve stood, at sunrise, on flat military
weapons ranges in CA, AZ, NM,
where my shadow stretched 100ft in
front of me with my back to the sun.
Warming me.
I thought at that momement:
The sun is too bright.
The shadows are too dark
Too long,
There are no gray areas
No wonder we build our weapons
Here.
BIG EV
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A STORY THAT COULD BE TRUE
by William Stafford
If you were exchanged in the cradle
and your real mother died
without ever telling the story
then no one knows your name,
and somewhere in the world
your father is lost and needs you
but you are far away.
He can never find
how true you are, how ready.
When the great wind comes
and the robberies of the rain
you stand in the corner shivering.
The people who go by -
you wonder at their calm.
They miss the whisper that runs
any day in your mind,
"Who are you really?" , wanderer?" -
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
"Maybe I'm a king."
In the seclusion of my room, I root through a bedside table and find an unlit smudge stick. I bring it up to my nostrils and sniff...and sniff again.
My senses flood back to the last sacred lodge I sat in - built with bent saplings and covered by colorful Star Quilt cotton blankets.
Not all men endure well this intense red glow of Grandfather rocks shoveled into the inner pit by firetenders, echoing the call of “Aho. Mitakuye Oyasin.”
I wait but-naked with other men in the crisp mountain air. We crawl on dirt into the dark sweat circle, glad for that first blast of heat and burning sage.
“Who do you serve?” One elder inside, beside the door, asks. As I reply, he stops me, “Don’t answer now! Sit with it.”
And I do.
Reid Baer


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