CreeCreeCree

               Peltier Freedom Month

             Washington, DC, Nov.1999

                                                By Naomi Ayala

6:30 a.m. sidewalk hose-down.

McPherson Square.

Love wraps around a steel post

pretending to be dead.

Love, drunk on the moon once

now back on the ground

to drink among us.

            Teepee erected on The Ellipse as if by itself –

as though earth, sun, coughed it up straight…

poof! No poles.  Just a swift blow of creation

Shoes swell with grass dew.

The feet become elation.

No crickets in this grass. Government grass.  Hail America!

Walk slow through morning mind mist.

Circle. Prayer. Drum.

Walk slow through morning prayer mind hum.

Feet. Dew. Shoes.

Lafayette.

                        Free Peltier now!  ¡Ahora mismo!

                        Where you now

                        across dead designs of gray concrete, Mr. President?

                        The elders watch. Watch now how they move.

                        Their eyes are stars.

                        Their hands our many maps.

Where from here are you, Mr. President –

outside this circle resist-song of  no,

definitely not?

Free Peltier now!

                        Sun up on east a little higher now.

                        Peltier’s voice through cell, microphone, loudspeaker

                        speaking speaks, makes the leaves flutter

                        sweeps a sky voice with everywhere feathers

                        calls out to trees

                        trees shaking their best stuff.

                        This is a gathering of trees.

                        Here come wind.  Here come wind.

                        Here and there the ax now.

They’re trying to cut us all down.

More sidewalks to move in.

Dead designs of gray concrete.

More presidents.

Wars.

People-earth-tree-rape.

                        6:30 a.m. sidewalk hose-down.

                        Love wraps around a steel post pretending to be dead.

                        A man at the corner claps.       

                        We… circle, prayer, drum.

                        Walk slow with morning prayer mind hum.

                        The world of no-resist outside

                        dead at this fire-grace, soul right-through goodness.

                        Love hops up from the grass

                        invisible, but there.

                        Creecreecreecreecreecreecree.

                        I watch the grass leaves spring.

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