Montana Prays to Understand
. . . . .
bleached missions still stand
haunted by those with elk-thirst
waiting for water
. . . . .
at winter solstice
all our blood remembers
gives way to what is
. . . . .
combing our prayers
fixes wounded affections
frightens storms away
. . . . .
bowls of black cherries
cover unpainted tables
god-food for starvelings
. . . . .
poor portulacas
forces they could not control
infiltrated wheat
. . . . .
if beauty is a spy
for those who only hate us
we take what we need
. . . . .
thistles resonate
raucous birds rise up again
toward the open fields
. . . . .
the muses strike back
open common-blue senses
ghost-white images
. . . . .
sky-spirit people
rest alone over the lakes
then heaven descends
. . . . .
chokecherry season
returns enthusiasm
for whatever lasts
. . . . .
elders share their homes
encampments of power
hidden in wrinkles
. . . . .
native children’s breaths
fill every space left without
an empty promise
. . . . .
old reservations
held beautiful existence
this is what we keep
. . . . .
Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Women.Poets.Montana
Process: Augmented cento haiku