Chicano Poet

Friday, November 23, 2007


I surround an ice cube
with my leaves of thunder
to defeat the valley

left behind by the war
that killed-off all the jackets
I ever owned.

Is this why I’m standing here
in my T-shirt and shorts,
the jpeg of a woman

who has lost her wolf
wallpapered on my laptop?
I don’t know

how to answer the question.
My hands are so cold
that they are being swept

along the dirt floor
of the hogan and my Navaho
grandmother’s nitpicking again.


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