FEATURED POET:      ZOEY BENALLY

 

 Zoey is a member of the Four Corners Poetry Slam Team

 

Visit her poetry / blog sites at

  

http://saaniidotcom.blogspot.com

 

http://www.geocities.com/chimeravision

 

 

5.14.2004

i am not beautiful

by t. zoEy benally

 

i am not beautiful

by white picket fence standards

i do not fit within edges

of die cut Grable doll

paper wardrobes

 

i am not golden sunshine & blue skies

no, not milk swirled

with pink strawberries

nor am i wasp, ant or spider

 

i am curled clay risen

through mud and dried,

crisped in hundred degree plus

 

i am chei horned toad

i will bring you luck

when you are brave enough

to rub bellies with me

 

i am pushy winds

to keep you going

when Barbie's clothes gouge

your waist and excess fabric bags

in the front & butt

 

 

 

 

 

ocean

by t. zoey benally

 

hands on the wheel to window rock,

i watch the red sandstone cliffs and i imagine our world under water. 

iodine tells us Navajoland was once covered by a vast deep blue sea. 

i watch the cliffs and i imagine octopi darting about,

 

suckered tentacles sticking to red rocks. 

i look up into the wide turquoise sky and i try to imagine water miles high. 

 

fort defiance, with the school zone lights that flash hour after hour. 

...thought those were only supposed to come on when kids are out & about. 

i slow to fifteen anyway, even though there isn't a child in sight. 

 

i sit at the junction with my blinker blinking, blinking, blinking. 

and i read about so & so that's going to do such & such to someone else. 

spraypaint screams from our children, "listen to me. I have something to say." 

 

left turn towards our nation's capital,

i look at the thriftway on the left,

with plastic bags partially imbedded into a furrowed parking lot

and a public restroom that rarely works. 

 

around and up the hill.  red, white & blue flutter in the wind. 

just a quick glance, afraid to peel my eyes off the road with lines so faded

& covered with dried mud that one could argue if they were ever even painted on at all. 

 

...and our tribal leaders are having lunch at the inn.

 

...and everybody is looking at everyone without actually looking at anyone,

with secret handshakes, covert games, and smiles that aren't really smiles. 

 

when i speak, i wonder,  do they think i'm playing their game? 

do they think my words are encoded & encrypted

with information that will "bring them down"? 

...and i wonder if they're trying to send me a secret message,

but i'm just too window-rock-illiterate to comprehend.

 

 

i smile at someone, and watch them searching their memory banks...

"friend or foe, friend or foe?" 

"which office do they come from?" 

"does this person owe me a favor?" 

 

a painted navajo geisha teeters by on someone's arm,

with layers & layers of lipstick red,  

& white foundation that ends at the neck & reveals the true skin brown. 

a fragile tower of hairspray, heels and polyester jacquard. 

"$eX-a-taries" i heard a council delegate once say. 

 

this is our capital, are these are our leaders? 

talking, whispering & furtively glancing. 

laughing boastful loud frybread belly laughs in western shirts and cowboy boots. 

and the room reeks of old spice and mutton grease. 

 

...and i wonder if these leaders were once little children

with humble dreams to better our nation & lead our

people strong into the twenty-first century. 

...and i try to imagine them saying those words, thinking those thoughts. 

...and then i wonder when that ancient ocean of hope dried up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3.28.2004

cranberry filled photoalbums

by t. zoEy benally

 

when he opens his eyes

she is his first thought

they share coffee, stir in sugar & cream ideas

 

he listens for her voice, low murmur

hot waxy bees

sticky with sleep, sing sweet honey

 

they watch movies

share popcorn paper bags

sprinkled with salt, hold the butter

 

later alone they re-watch

DVDs, and they are together

again, hands brush at the popcorn well

 

she sleeps, he listens & enjoys

the even rhythm of her breath

refrigerator cycles on, cools cartons of milk

 

he watches lint glide down warm sunbeams

picks up the paper

scans black letter march across the thin rough page

 

 

5.18.2004

baby's day

by t. zoEy benally

 

it was time for a visit

they wanted her to visit

so i took the day,

spent the day with baby

 

we walked along the river banks

under cottonwood, beside chil chin berries

she was quickly lulled to sleep

by water rush & sun dapples

 

butterflies & moths welcomed us

they soon spread the word

hop flights took the message

forward to those wondering

about this special child

 

sunlight glinted off crinkled saran wrap

covered dark brown gravy river

thanksgiving leftovers wildly flow

 

fish slipped silently beneath

thick water, watched baby pass

slick beaver matched our pace

paddled close to hear her even breath

 

duck & geese ventured close

swam against currents

some dared to fly onto the path

to watch, first with right eye,

then with left, baby nap late in the day

 

spiders hung from webs threaded through brush

eye & leg octets noted baby's growth & progress

dragonflies, bumblebees & wasps

buzz, hover & we pass

 

speedy hummingbirds zoom

hearts & wings race, love quickly

red robins flit slower, tree to tree

scoop up crumbs from baby's sweet dreams

 

fat squirrels sling their tails

fuzzy boa arced over their backs

shiny prairie dogs wait, wait until

we are upon them, then squeek down burrows

 

two tall lithe deer look up from meadow graze

green fiber between their teeth

they chew thoughtfully & watch

sleeping baby pass

 

trees applaud at the conclusion of

baby's visit, they've all brought

peaceful thoughts to nourish baby's

bouquet dream & to send blessings

may she visit again soon.

   

 

 

10.03.2005

360 days until the Shiprock Fair

by t. zoEy benally

 

this year's Shiprock fair adventures are finally complete

people from here--Shiprock, people from other places

--Chinle, Window Rock, Crownpoint, Round Rock,

Gallup, Colorado, and other place names i didn't read

have littered US491 with smashed aluminum cans,

diapers uncurled along sidewalks for pedestrian viewing,

crumpled religious propaganda, smashed styrofoam vats

discarded corn wrap, aka, husks, discarded clues leading to

villainous burrito vendors peddling out-of-temperature goods

 

at 7AM the carnies and fair board still clenched our town

just below the waist, with two hands, having squeezed

and shaken, as many coins from our pockets, in exchange

for dirt and grey water mud, heel slides, footprint smears

i just hope no one fell into carnie bath-water, money grime

washed from hands shiny, nails caked with greasy dirt

they still held on, unwilling to let go, trying to keep the sun

from rising, they left flood lights blaring, pointed at

the City Market parking lot exit, interrogating drivers

 

rides were folded into semi-trailer shapes, light bulbed curves,

familiar arcs, betraying the amusement ride identities

copper grounding rods pulled out with grey-yellow dust puffs

brake lights, blinker lines strung to trucks, skinny men

accustomed to a quarter-inch filth layer crawl behind wheels

focus eyes on the gate, then highway, i didn't watch to see

if they turned left or right, didn't care really, i was just happy

to see the so called City of Fun leave, our town liberated

from a noxious parasite--sucking assets--for another 360 days