Lori Took a Seat in the Kiva

She heard the wind
skim over the mesa
and drop a little dust
through the opening.

This was not a trespass
of a national park treasure
or an invitation
on to the reservation.

Some white man with money
built a retreat and conference halls
far enough from the city
so the city lights did not dim the stars.

Alone with a rectangle of noon light
she sat on the stone paved floor
with her back against the wall
and thought about killing conquistadors.

This was the effect of reading
about Juan de Oñate
and his bloody determination
to end revolts and uprisings.

The light dimmed as a border collie
poked its head in the opening
above the ladder
and Lori looked up.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Un-wedged from the Mouth

Lori took mason jars out into the night
to fill and cap them with moonlight
as the moon entered its first day
of the month when it could be labeled gibbous.

She transported the mason jars
to the round kiva at the bottom of the house
that the original owner built
with the Santa Fe style frame above it.

She placed one mason jar in each
of the four vaulted-arch nichos
where wooden and painted santos stood
the first day she moved in.

The silvery glow filled the kiva
with the power of four moons
and Lori’s rationalizing
this was more holy.

She sat cross-legged
in the center of the kiva floor
to enter a meditative state
that blurred the world’s boundaries.

Lori spoke childhood names
and rolled them off her second tongue
like turning rosary beads
so the world would show her

their current lives unfurled
by their present whispers
and the sleepy recognition
someone watched over them.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney