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Wild Roses2

I am not where I thought I was, a
deeper look… a willingness to open;
change rains down valleys of doubt
to shine in the upside down rhythm
that is not fully mine!

El Sereno is a Spanish word.  Bairdstown
sort of English, but before that was
the indigenous Otsungna—the place of
roses, making white guests think of
names not fully mine!

I was here because I was born of woman
in nearby Pasadena, Chippewa for “Crown
of the Valley,” and before all the names—
the land was how it was, and it was as true,
forming, being in time!

The Jewish God created, the native Great
Spirit too; Jesus was a wonderful son
and teacher preaching poverty to the
masses, making pain a blessing?  Wide is
destruction’s path line!

Kanekuk said the land belongs to the Great
Spirit, be it man or woman, woman or man,
no matter the words—a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet, Borgesian fictions
dancing to beats and rhyme!

Honoring our father and our mother, we
can live a long while in the land given,
the Jewish God on the page, Niagara
and other feats of nature defining the
Eternal art that shines!

And yet we litter El Sereno, which litters
Bairdstown, which littered Otsungna—which
tried to live as one with nature, the Great
Spirit, Creation.  Sometimes when you win,
you lose, it’s a shame!

The hope is in staying awake, remembering
the beginning, planting and replanting
first plants, calling on the first names,
asking native nations to return here and
help us grow our lives!