I place a black cloth the size of a dot over his head. Wrap his entire miniscule body with a thread of my black hair. He lies there on a white sheet of paper and squirms like a dark cocoon, thinks he is going to transform. The letter, when it begins to lose color in a book never opened, becomes a macula in thought. And when read through the lens of a decimal point: see its dark fleck of a cranium, see expendable language—grab the letter j next to him, hold it like a tiny black scythe, behead the i, and watch its dot head roll to the back of a sentence. - Orlando White (Dine/Naaneesht’ézhi Tábaahí Zuni Water’s Edge Clan) #nationalpoetrymonth #nativeminds #creativenative
Posted on: Fri, 11 Apr 2014 23:37:45 +0000
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