April Poetry Month (Day 16): Angie Trudell Vasquez #npm17 #wppoets

Photo on 10-21-16 at 3.02 PMAngie Trudell Vasquez is currently getting her MFA in poetry at the Institute of American Indian Arts. She will graduate in May 2017. In 2016, she was a poetry panelist at Split This Rock! Her poems have been published in the Yellow Medicine Review, San Diego Poetry Annual, Woodland Pattern, Verse Wisconsin, I Didn’t Know There Were Latinos in Wisconsin, Turn Up the Volume, Local Ground(s) – Midwest Poetics, and [Insert Title Here]. She was nominated for a Pushcart in 2014 for her essay, “The Making of the Latina Monologues.”

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**previously published in the Yellow Medicine Review

Wild Prayer

Brown earth floors
breathe feet, sweaty bodies

we glow, glisten, meet
leaping in midflight,

the swivel in the mirror
we are magic dying

blooming in our bodies
bare soles touch dead trees

arms raise carry twist
praise all that sings

praise goddess monkey teacher
from up north who left

to dance on haloed ground
on the edge of blue sky lakes
with sisters round and round.

Space Time

I.

We are magic dying.

Pink peonies gasp tight ants assist open petals

no peony exists without ministrations of light

brick wall frames space between drive

a garden of red clay pots brightens deck

all balconies lit with green light caress eyes

eyes are mystery upset images transform in skull

how we got here is fought over in courtrooms

people pretend to be god brandish fire sticks

hands are tools, nails are weapons

a newborn is a garden of purple heirloom potatoes

she is an angel reads minds from her high chair babbles

mother feeds child smashed orange skin sweet potatoes with tiny spoon.

We are most vulnerable when we sit at the table with fork and knife.

II.

Early rose light calls from window

jack rabbits bound

flight occurs on ground.

Where are my crow friends?

Hawk brown circles school bathed in blue light

students descend stairs fade into brilliance

talks done talk begins

pen colors paper

mind waxes                 sheds peacock feathers

How do you begin to think mired in thought and self-doubt?

Walk clears canvas, blank sheets beg

pull feet to mountain ascend.

**previously published in the Yellow Medicine Review

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