On the Road

Sooner or later

she’s got to realize,
1969 at two and a half,
blonde pig tails, and
embroidered bell bottoms
was a banner year.
The best of ’em.

When she said,
“I a hippie.”
She really had a good idea
of self–
back then.

These days, it’s just a run
for the money.
Watch your words, your back, and your
bank account. Forget those new
running shoes, I’ve decided. No shoes
will do just fine for this next part of the road.

What I want to be when I grow up
is everything I ever knew in the
sparkle of dandelions growing in
my backyard. I a hippie.
Not workin’ for the man or
the woman in his suit.

No, this jungle animal is breaking
free of this food chain. Dean and
Marylou would dig it. Time
for me to hit that high note too.

Under the Bridge

where the monsoon flows

over desert river rock
where nothing grows
but from the red clay floor
and the heart of a girl no more
a wise Inukshuk rises.

His steady hand pointing
toward the rising sun
his native soul sifted
from the bones of
whispered poems

Sonia Sanchez on the wind
my homegirls guiding
chalk poems on the walls
before flash flood and
raging rivers

left the beds dry

Bring it
big life
Bring it!