Poetry and Art / Part 2- Confined in Small Spaces

---

Ya at eeh Means Hello

Willy and I became good friends in college. He was Native American, a Navajo to be more specific. He loved to joke and talk about his life. He helped me understand Navajo culture and the pressure young Navajos face to remain on the reservation and honor Navajo tradition. The poem Hatalii, I write about the struggle.

---

Broken Heart

---

Hatalii

Onto the mountains
fingers of sun sift uranium oxide.
A yellow bus rumbles the ruts
dragging clouds of dust
drops Ellen Shundeen
by a tarpaper house.

A school book is held
to her chest. Inside
are transparent layers
of human anatomy. The spine
a repair of library tape. The cover
marked and abraded lies heavy
like dry desert grass after rain.

Ellen hurries her feet
scuffs feldspar and mica
sets down her book
and starts to milk goats.
She licks her brown hand
it is sweet snowy white

listens as grandfather coughs.
When he speaks the words
come from a distant mirage.
His lungs are diseased.
He has worked in the mines.

A shaft of light breaks.
Ellen waits for her bus
reads about blood
while she studies her grandfather.
He flattens the earth for a painting
crushes gypsum for white
and sandstone for red.

Navajo words:
Hatalii- medicine man
Shundeen- sunshine

Hatalii was first published in Pilgrimage Magazine.

CLICK HERE if you missed Part 1

---

A special thanks to all who support my work.
I appreciate feedback and will always try to reply to your comments.
All writing and art is my own.

If you enjoy what I do please follow @beginningtoend
Also, visit my website GOO FOO