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!

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