Pow Wow / Ct. 2009 (Revised)
The concrete and plastic, chrome domed
bricked up auditorIum rang
like a hollow bell,
a meager few red skins circle the stadium seats
like smoke from a mythical “peace” pipe
ragged, distilled, diluted, distraught, “dised”
A 21st century ablution of angst.
Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.
All semblance of nature betrayed
by polyester tassels and cheap Crayola yarn fringe,
a sneakers and moccasins mix,
only the whistle-drum, and sage smoke sanctifies.
Circles form, crouching over polyurethane floors
silver hair, braids and hands harden; they bear,
bore the “dis” missive, disdain,
the balm of music eased all the pain.
Round shoulders meet, sidelong glances;
old and young form for dances.
The roof “dis” appears becomes the night sky
air vibrates with the heart thumping of stick on skin,
and so WE, the PEOPLE begin.
Chants warm the taunt throats of man;
a whistle trills the coyotes howl.
Heartbeat sings a drum song,
bowed and bent the circle dancers form.
Stomp, twirl, braids a whirl, winged dancers rattle and bell.
Mans peacock form no longer forlorn rises above the well.
Chant the tell tale heart,
the sorrow the joy, drum thumpers hatchets fall
on the neck of a starry night.
Drum and dance invite…..
scream,….soul song, smoke dream,
eyes daze in a reverent scheme.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
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