Standing Around Waiting to Inhale
Anytime Department

As I stand in the shade with my feet in the murky leaking waters and absorb the energy of a hot summer day as the cooling fingers of the polluted tributaries to nowhere radiate through my body. I am reminded that there is a beauty to the way yarn will turn a piece of cured pig fat intothe shape of a bow. That bow becomes irresistible between the stones that jetty the view of my dominance in the world. My violent hands are slow, patient and calculating because the world has never told me that they should act otherwise.

The intimate ghosts of my imbued violence are negated by the medicinal powers given to my ancestry as we imbibe and celebrate our labor and our food that heals skeletons of trauma from this violent place we call home where all is justified in we feel anointed and desire is procured. It is all quite cinematic, the way the stem caresses the sunlight coming through the trees and laughter from old stories witness the present. I wait in the undercommons of my own mind to stand around waiting to inhale because the songs we used to sing will give us the impressions of disappearing without a trace.