USA

WHEN THE WORLD
AS WE KNEW IT ENDED

We were dreaming on an occupied island at the farthest edge
of a trembling nation when it went down.

Two towers rose up from the east island of commerce and touched
the sky. Men walked on the moon. Oil was sucked dry
by two brothers. Then it went down. Swallowed
by a fire dragon, by oil and fear.
Eaten whole.

It was coming.

We had been watching since the eve of the missionaries in their
long and solemn clothes, to see what would happen.

We saw it
from the kitchen window over the sink
as we made coffee, cooked rice and
potatoes, enough for an army.

We saw it all, as we changed diapers and fed
the babies. We saw it,
through the branches
of the knowledgeable tree
through the snags of stars, through
the sun and storms from our knees
was we bathed and washed
the floors.

The conference of the birds warned us, as they flew over
destroyers in the harbor, parked there since the first takeover.
It was by their song and talk we knew when to rise
when to look out the window
to the commotion going on--
the magnetic field thrown off by grief.

We heard it.
The racket in every corner of the world. As
the hunger for war rose up in those who would steal to be president
to be king or emperor, to own the trees, stones, and everything
else that moved about the earth, inside the earth
and above it.

We knew it was coming, tasted the winds who gathered intelligence
from each leaf and flower, from every mountain, sea
and desert, from every prayer and song all over this tiny universe
floating in the skies of infinite
being.

And then it was over, this world we had grown to love
for its sweet grasses, for the many-colored horses
and fishes, for the shimmering possibilities
while dreaming.

But then there were the seeds to plant and the babies
who needed milk and comforting, and someone
picked up a guitar or ukulele from the rubble
and begin to sing about the light flutter
the kick beneath the skin of the earth
we felt there, beneath us

a warm animal
a song being born between the legs of her,
a poem.

AND IF I AWAKEN
IN LOS ANGELES

I will find a crazy boy teetering there
on the sidewalk against morning traffic,
too far gone to even ask for a quarter.
I will hear his mother call for him,
her spirit confused by the taste
of sadness,
and though she searches for him
everywhere,
she will never find him here.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles
I will hear the lost beloved one
sing Billie Holiday in my ear--
she lives in a parallel universe,
is kind to rats and does
no harm to anyone.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles I will know
that I am not the only dreamer.
I will appear in the vision of a dove
who perches on the balcony
of the apartment.
In his translation I am the human with a store
of birdseed. He is the sun.
I am a fruitful planet.

And if I awaken in Los Angeles
I will not have to get up and say my prayers
to the east, and look out over the city of millions,
past the heads of palm trees, through foggy breezes--
because I will be a prayer as I perform the rituals
of being a human.
There will
be no difference
between
near and far.

This morning I have too much to do to awaken.
I say my prayers, feed the birds,
then head to the refrigerator and forget.

IT'S RAINING IN HONOLULU

There is a small mist at the brow of the mountain,

each leaf of flower, of taro, tree and bush shivers with ecstasy.

And the rain songs of all the flowering ones who have called for the rain

can be found there, flourishing beneath the currents of singing.

Rain opens us, like flowers, or earth that has been thirsty for more than a season.

We stop all of our talking, quit thinking, or blowing sax to drink the mystery.

We listen to the breathing beneath our breathing.

This is how the rain became rain, how we became human.

The wetness saturates everything, including the perpetrators of the second overthrow.

We will plant songs where there were curses.

EQUINOX

I must keep from breaking into the story by force
for if I do I will find myself with a war club in my hand
and the smoke of grief staggering toward the sun,
you nation dead beside you.

I keep walking away though it has been an eternity
and from each drop of blood
springs up sons and daughters, trees,
a mountain of sorrows, of songs.

I tell you this from the dusk of a small city in the north
not far from the birthplace of cars and industry.
Geese are returning to mate and crocuses have
broken through the frozen earth.

Soon they will come for me and I will make my stand
before the jury of destiny. Yes, I will answer in the clatter
of the new world, I have broken my addiction to war
and desire. Yes, I will reply, I have buried the dead

and made songs of the blood, the marrow.

NAMING
for Vanessa, Toshi, Krista, and Tamarin

I call my sisters to dress for the stomp dance
As all the little creatures hum and sing
in the thick grass around the grounds.
Lightning bugs are tiny stars
dancing in the river of dusk.
Our stomachs are full of meat and fry bread
and the talk of aunts and uncles.
Beautiful fire at the center of the dance
and the dusk has been lit.
We lace up our turtle shells so we
can dance into the circle.
And in this spirit world is the grocery
store over the hill, and all the houses,
the river, the sky, and the highway.
We have been here forever
say our mother, our father.
And this is the name we call ourselves
i tell my sisters,
this name that gives our legs the music
to shake the shells--
a name that is unspeakable
by those who disrespect us
--a name with power to thread us through
the dark to dawn
and leads us faithfully to the stars.

Author's notes about the poems:
AND IF I AWAKEN IN LOS ANGELES--The voice of jazz singer Billie Holiday carries centuries of grief. Her phrasing was impeccable, a balance between chains and flight. EQUINOX--This poem is for Gregory Sarris IT'S RAINING IN HONOLULU--The second overthrow referes to the Cayetano v. Rice decision in which the U. S. Supreme Court struck down Hawaii's practice of allowing only the beneficiaries of the office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA), OHA is a semi-autonomous trust designated to function as the primary agency for the betterment of the Native Hawaiian people and was created by popular vote of all Hawaii's citizens.
NAMING--Vanessa, Toshi and Tamarin Chee, and Krista Chico are grandaughters who are part of the Tvlvhasse Ceremonial grounds and take part in the women's ribbon dance.
This is a children's poem.

Publication Credit:
These poems are from New Poems 1999-2001 in HOW WE BECAME HUMAN, New and Selected Poems: 1975-2001 from Norton.

© All Copyright, Joy Harjo.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.