kasína

I am a poet. I have a Master’s and PhD in English. Yet I do not have the words.

The so-called BBB just passed. The funding for ICE alone is bigger than other countries’ military budgets and bigger than all our federal agencies’ budgets combined.

I have been interested in the original, First Nation names for the mountains, bodies of water, land that I roam. Yesterday I was interwebbing and realized the translation of kachina. In the Hopi language, kasína—spirit being. A moment’s salve. More than adequate language for the reflection of water on the land the Sauk-Suiattle people called Sweetleehachu.

In the first six months of this regime, veteran immigrants, legal citizens of the United States, have felt forced to self deport. Young people with families of their own, legally in the United States and imprisoned illegally, tortured for doing nothing but speaking out against the genocide in Gaza. A bill has passed for which the sole purpose is to provide tax breaks for the wealthy, introducing as much as 4 trillion in debt and taking more away from working families in America already struggling. Millions of children will die (thousands already are) with the evisceration of USAID. Iran was bombed. And mainstream news, with few exceptions, is using a both-sides-he-said-she-said method that constantly erases just how bad it is and legitimizes this pretend president who with his cronies achieves new levels of ineptitude and sociopathy on the daily. Yesterday right-wing billionaire, and BFF of President Pedophile, bought CBS. Yes, CBS.

From the beginning of this nightmare, I have tried to hold on to the belief in the goodness of people that we will not allow the unilateral decimation of our country. To the faith in our ethical judges, our No Kings Hands Off marches, our voters in elections both local and national, our responsible journalists continuing to report the truth, our communities of color informing us with generations of knowledge. To the belief that all those witnessing the devastating injustices to citizens—like the Mexican firefighters who came to help in Texas, the heroics of people like Heather Cox Richardson and AOC, California’s federal class-action lawsuit against the Trump regime, people showing up in community—we will come together in innovative ways to help one another. Whatever’s left of this democracy to rebuild on depends on it.  

This morning I woke up from a dream. I was on the phone with a Lakota artist living in New Mexico. She shared her community’s experience with an environmental problem, a toxicity poisoning land and human alike. I find it so upsetting that I am crying, sobbing. Then I recognize what I am doing, taking up all the space on this call with my own grief. I own it, apologize, the call ends. Cut scene. I am stage right or below stage. Center stage, I see my friend with three other women of color. They stand on each other’s shoulders to reach high above a stage to make some change. Rock solid. Strong. Balanced. Connected. They make the change together.