Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

Yesterday, Chester Nez died—the last Navajo Code Talker.

As a child, he was told to
Forget. Forget your language.
He did not.
As a man, he was asked
Can you remember?
Remember your beautiful language,
the language nobody knows?
Once remembered, can you weave it
Word by word into a code?
Can you do this despite the noise
of all those ghosts
murmuring in their many languages
who follow you everywhere?
Can you save us with language?
Will you? Yes, he said,
Yes.

Teenagers, late spring
hauling bodies to school
and not much else
Spirits effervesced through
the acoustic tile ceilings
Minds napping
Souls already far away
from high school—
wandering deserts,
fast food franchises,
leafy college campuses
Their only visible move
those busy texting thumbs
sending the only explanation
They can offer,
one common Message
from every phone
over and over:
I am
Out of Here.

cat dreams summer dreams
hunt nap dinner nap cat nap
porch nap purr nap bird

Today, to the bags of clothes
to give away
along with all
we’ve outgrown
or never wear
added the ghost of what was
(shaped as a wedding dress, all lace)
lifted it from its haunt
on the closet shelf
sad and relieved
to say goodbye.

You,
one of the two
best things
I ever made,
will spend today
fishing
in a sparkling lake
on a sunny day
basking in this
green and perfect present—
your happy life.

Summer is backstage, running her lines
till her big scene, the one with fireworks.
Or, a different rumor,
Summer is stuck in traffic, flipping the radio
dial, Ray-Bans on, searching for an oldies station.
Or she is perched on a chair
in a waiting room, listening
to the clock tick on the wall
thumbing through year-old magazines
as she jots down recipes for
grilled shrimp, watermelon ice,
strawberry lemonade.
Wherever she is,
Summer is tapping her bare foot
sick of being patient
sick of taking turns.
Her bags are packed, full of picnics
and sunscreen, ditch lilies, ice cream,
concerts on the lawn.
Ready.

Experts, disembodied voices,
Gave guidance by the net full.
Once netted, never let go.
That was one rule
We let go
in there among the
tangle of limb and feather
In there, the overgrown vines
In there, the cages
In there, the promise of a pond
In there, the do-gooders and their nets
In there, this abandoned nest
Of shell and feathers
Caught on the knotted collision
Of plans, opinions, and
Men of Action.
It does these wild lives
No good at all
That we meant well.

In the overgrown school courtyard
full of the world’s tallest dandelions,
rocks, vines running wild, and pink tulips
that didn’t know any better than to
try and grow here
This spring
surprising and beautiful as
tulips in the weeds
a crop of ducklings
and one vigilant momma.

This cracked-open shell
at last, after the dark spring
warm sun on my face

Horrified,
you realize
it is because of
you
that your child is pacing the auditorium corridors
and throwing up in the art deco bathroom, mezzanine level,
instead of donning her cap and gown,
her jaunty tassel.
You drive away—
leave the city,
leave the state,
leave the story,
all for Good.