ᒪᑫᓯᐢ

the objects we give life,
through contracts and doctrines,
swallow our meaning then spit it back up,
acrid and filthy, onto our hopeless planet's
stained and fraying shirt

nothing has ever happened before now,
but there have always been women
sitting at the river's edge, ankle deep,
thinking of the harvest,
while the cats hunt fireflies in the tall grass.

there has always been the cavalry,
waiting and training, more ready for this
than they've ever been ready for anything,
while still the frogs and the crickets
chant their prayers to the dark.

there have always been the children,
older than they expected to be,
things coursing through their veins
they couldn't help but understand,
eager to be swallowed by the sun.

still, the highway creeps along ahead,
sterile and crumbling,
and the ghosts of all the roadkill
and windshield splatter
don't know how to stop haunting us,

and long after the deposition,
the conviction and the sentence
we bury the strata deep within our nerves.