Art & Poetry for April

^{Spring, briefly / Sean McIntyre}

Into the Arms of Goodness

No more a weary wanderer,

In foreign dream scaped lands,

The meter of my poetry,

As pyrrhic as iamb,

Empirically imperial,

The royalty in my veins,

Taken from ignominy,

Sucked from noble plains,

Death for the drawing,

Of this blood of simple pleasures,

A far ocean discovers,

A rare and budding measure,

Creator keeps creating,

The wise geneticist always making,

Blends of wine and ground acorns fine,

At feasts he is partaking,

Where what is left of bone and soil,

In water flowing as the oil,

From seal fat left in the sun,

Or burning salmon on the run,

Ooligans cross on crashing surf,

Black sand beckons the homely hearth,

I used to be a wanderer,

In the halls of my own heart,

A star divined he gave me,

The Stars above have saved me,

Always shining on my path,

In my eyes the Tiger's wrath,

No place now foreign to my mind,

Anywhere I travel or legs may climb,

Always stepping into Goodness,

Because Goodness is in me,

Now I bring it where I go,

This oil lamp light unto my feet.

-Hiiné J. DePoe, Tututni Dené, Siletz Tribal Member

El llano en llamas / The Burning Plain

Tengo paciencia y tú no la tienes, así que esa es mi ventaja. Tengo mi corazón que resbala y da vueltas en su propia sangre, y el tuyo esta desbaratado, revenido, y lleno de pudrición. Esa también es mi ventaja.

I have patience and you don't, so that's my advantage. I have my heart that slips and spins in its own blood, and yours is broken, tempered, and full of rot. That's also my advantage.

-Juan Rulfo