AZ central poetry spot and Cloudthroat

I have a couple poems that have been published in the past couple weeks. One is ‘Raspberries do not blush in the sky,’ a poem written for Anna Mae Aquash and missing murdered Indigenous women. This poem is located on the AZcentral.com Poetry Spot page. 

Another two poems, ‘Rose Quartz,” and “Natives with Neural Activity,’ is located in the new issue of Cloudthroat online journal which an online publication aimed to publish Indigenous creativity and revolt. 

Both projects are founded and led by some talented poets pushing for narratives that may have been unheard or oppressed, I am grateful to be included in their poetry projects and publications ♥

Ahéhee’!

Amber M.

Redskirt

Gasping glochid

Slice me open like a saguaro fruit

Let me bleed, raw red with delight and comfort

Take your carob thumbs and rub the skin soaked

My needles fall out easily for you

Unlike the others, I’ve made sure to stab in all the right places

So they can let me be, to bask in the sun

I was not ripe until

You knew the clouds would be here soon

I was not ripe until

You knew the rain would wash away my spirit

I was not ripe until

You saw the brightness in my stamen

 

Thank you for letting me bask as long as I wanted

Then you can enjoy the crimson of my fruit

♥Delegation- Oh honey♥

The mesa behind Grandma Cowboy’s house

 

Redthedog
Grandma Cowboy’s trusty dog, Red.

It leaves and returns

The day is hot and windy on top of this Mesa

Juniper trees pop up, sparse like hastiin faces

whiskers on chin and cheek

30 miles north I can see Navajo Mountain, to my right

Past the rusty pink canyons and untarred roads

Equal distance to my left is Black Mesa

A Mesa seen as skin to Diné

But paper greener than Matcha on a cold day

to all the Mr. Peabody’s in the Midwest

I hear cowbells in the distance

with old sheep moving it’s puffy chins

to make its presence known

Then grandma gets out of her truck

Alan Jackson stops playing on the radio

Her freshly permed Kinłachiini hair, Canadian tuxedo

and Shape up sketchers are made for this rez

She waltzes to a boarded shed

Dives her chocolate colored fingers

into lemon colored straw for their feast

I sit on top of the mesa

from here I can tell Shimásání

is pleased because the sheep

did not get lost in the canyons and have returned

The sheep take a moment to see the hay

and almost rumba like make their way

They were made for this rez

 

sheepatthebottomofthecanyon
Grandma’s sheep at the bottom of the canyon

♥The Chromatics- Runnin up that hill♥