A Dozen Hoops

If alive, she still would say –

The henbit is early this year.
I think about him every day.
My eyes are pooled with tears.
Yes, the rain. Yes, it’s May.

Full-blooded Hopi, I dance,
earth humming of mud, a land
whose name has changed, it
fetched a tidy (handsome) sum.

I grew up eating the flesh of fears.
I saw something, but I did not stay.
Lightness leaping only I could hear.
A hum-drum Monday, I went away.

Rawhide sings her name, a mother who leaps, who leaps my dear.