This morning when I looked out the roof windowbefore dawn anda few stars were still caughtin the fragile weft of ebony nightI was overwhelmed. I sang the song Louis taught me:a song to call the deer in Creek, when hunting,and I am certainly hunting something as magic as deerin this city far from the hammock of my mother’s belly.It works, of course, and deer came into this roomand wondered at finding themselvesin a house near downtown Denver.Now the deer and I are trying to figure out a song
to get them back, to get all of us back,
because if it works I’m going with them.
And it’s too early to call Louis
and nearly too late to go home.Joy Harjo (From How How We Became Human:New and Selected Poems 1975-2002)
Thursday, August 08, 2013
resting easy in poetry