What is my man saying in his Red Prayer?
I want to know.
I want to hear his First Red Breath Language sound out
about Red land and treaties, meandering waterways
about amputated Red fingers, and white medicine scripts
about casual disregard for his Redness, his Red heart
about his Red lungs and voice.
I want to hear his language speak of his Red mountains,
his Red people turning Downwind, yellow, sick.
I want to watch his earnest eyes shut to it,
not tight,
but close effortless over the Red Pain he carries.
I want to see his language transform Red Pain,
into
accountability , trust, and abundance for him.
I want to know All Unequivocal Reasons he hurts with
our government, this government
of unRed people
of institutions built by unRed people,
of streets stained red under passing parade floats
of evaporating rain clouds dribbling Red wind.
I want to understand
why his nights are sometimes starless,
why his Red horses die at empty water holes.
why he paints images of them
on great raw canvases billowing
with Red Hope and Red Prayer
around, near, over, and beside the table of food he likes
that tastes of Red Beauty to me
even while his Red Pain is great and even while
his tender eyes close tenderly
with each mouthful I offer him.
About the Creator
Sonja Horoshko
I am a journalist in the southwest Four Corners region covering local, regional natural resources, government, and politics for nearly 20 years while surviving in Cortez, Colo. as a visual artist for a decade longer. www.sonjahoroshko.com
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