We didn't know, so long ago
in our tiny textile town
when they closed the first mill down
it would not be the last to go

Everything would be alright
grown men working part time jobs
late night worried, anguished sobs
the unemployed now taking flight

The other mill was still going
long gone the days of over time
managers watching every dime
winds of change had started blowing

pushpin extravagance
the thoughftul look
the dream square

your arm moves across the space
between us,
rests on my breath

entwined in a lover's question mark
we sleep
the heat of our bodies a sweat lodge,
you carry
a medicine bundle
I hold a marriage basket
across the threshold of dreams

the spirit of heron and deer follow us,
nibbling on our flesh,
crows gather and serpents
rejoice,

we leave no dreams across a summer sky,
the burning bed catches fire,
our agreements carried by four wild winds..

There was this earth-like, heavenly scent
that sneaked inside my brain,
a comfort zone to me, was lent
until the noise drove me insane.

A carpenter was this Jesus man
he died on a piece of wood,
irony has always been a part of the plan
that alone, must be understood.

I since have ceased my longing
for things that aren't to be,
fate can just about hand me anything
and it'll have no effect on me.

"STILLBORN"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 2000
(Written for a colleague.)

A little life
cut short
for what
for why

No worldly strife
you sought
your lot
to live

No sound
no tear
no laugh
no fear

Oh cruel fate
open the gate
that we may enter
and unite.

Dry thoughts don't work well wet...

Throwing your thoughts in the
tumble dryer that was never meant to be
The use of tumble dryer I mean
thoughts can go anywhere instantly

Don’t worry if you haven’t
done it the first time neither had I
one time at the very beginning
I used them not all were dry

You must put them back in
the order they exit the machine
even the ones put to the back
of your mind no matter if they're
not always clean

in echoes of faraway silence
in naked stones and sassafras root
and the prick of thistles

it lingers

like the white cries of
Cree spirits to the lumbering Milk River

and an angry sun
on its bruised cornflower canvas of sky
stares at the sad faces of painted pansies
through slanting shafts of grey

wishing

to wash over the dancing dust
of billowing prairie grasses

to softly shower away
the quiet

Canto Three ~ Torgándon, The White Salt Cliffs, tower in the present day to heights beyond the clouds.

Let me hide behind my shield
Of innocents and women
should I be killed here it will yield
headlines of condemnation
as planned

For I have corrupted civilians
and co-opted Islam to my cause
I, who shall only know the gates of hell
when justice finds its way to me

I am a true freedom fighter
my purpose to be free
to kill or enslave all
with whom I disagree

My hatred is my only friend
it leaves no room for love
or compassion
or tolerance
and never forgiveness

your eyes and mouth
don't match
it gave you
an off-centered
look

we argued
made up
made love
walked in storms
dripped rain
made love again
discussed my country
falling into the ocean

your room was beautiful
i forgot his face there
guilt came after we ended
although i never thought
an explanation was needed

i am filled with ghosts
yours and mine
i have opinions on
the death of death
and love, if
that's what we had