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