N’dee Biyati’ Abecedarian
By syan jay
as cousins surrounding my ankles. We turn,
become sheep herded in ancestral forest while
chasing each other, evolving shadow under
ch’ígoná’áí as thunder rolls from sky’s hands
downward, waiting to swallow precious
dlǫ’dichiné into its bruising maw, way below—
dził bitł’ááhgee. We agree our mouths into
evening wear, spin lightning as thread,
growing camp dresses from burst clouds,
ghost mothers celebrating the small,
hwéhego working hands. What spirits will
inhabit our closets? Queer ones, fingers
journeying depths of throats, haunting
kisses on a cut lip, the scab a gentle nudge toward
k’edilzeehí in quiet bedrooms. When lovers
leave we gather to play Green Glass Door,
ła’íbiih nándáh, wondering what we can bring.
Maybe someone dead & beyond the yucca will
nudge the door open, waiting to embrace us.
Odats’isgai breaking the curtains of beyond.
Perhaps when winter returns, we will gather,
stories warming even bitter bones. Children
shushing each other, their laughter a chorus,
traditional medicine of youth. Even with the storms,
t’ąązhį’ násdzaa, holier in painted blue & yellow.
Tł’iish bitseghál adíí as our ankles run past him,
tł’é’ goleeh. Neighborhood dogs bark & scatter,
tsídabesghiz. We say that to pretend our fear away.
Ts’iłtąą, just briefly, this safety. Then we hear
uncles sing from the porch & we race toward
winning smiles, light beaming from teeth-gaps.
Yards of water swell into the garden, drowning
zinnias we had planted the spring before.
Zhą́ we know of returnings, as we always have.