In the Trust

Her love
butterfly wings
in summer day;
the fire in the snow.

Her voice
sun dust glow in the night;
splinters of lake.

Her tears for his wound;
dying little creature;
the soft touch of light
opens the doubt
of the garden gate.

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Weekly Avocet #480 is here. 
This last only for a week. 

mama duck to see her chicks
filled with joy and worry
like human, like duck

©Byung A. Fallgren

Changing is not Vanishing
by Carlos Montezuma

Who says Indian race is vanishing?
The Indian will not vanish.
The feathers, paint and moccasin will
vanish, but the Indians–never!
Just as long as there is a drop of human
blood in America, the Indian will not
Vanish.
His spirit is everywhere; the American
Indian will not vanish.
He has changed externally, but he has not
Vanished.
Wherever you see an Indian upholding
the standard of his race, there you see
the Indian man–he has not vanished.
The man part of the Indian is here, there
and everywhere.
The Indian race vanishing? No, never!
The race will live on and
prosper forever.

(This poem appeared in Wassaja 1, No 3, June 1916.)
Carlos Montezuma, known as Wassaja, was a Yavapai–
Apache writer and activist. A fading amber of the
society of American Indians, he was the first native
American male to receive a medical degree. He
founded the magazine Wassaja, a platform through
which he published his own writings and political
views. He died on January 31, 1923.

January

It arrives like a lad who ran miles,
sprawls on the snowy field,
put an eye on the days go by like
the wind-swept clouds.

Slipping near the end
of the stage, the fire within cools;
the heart of the frozen lake.

But the core of it still hangs on 
to the warmth of the sun by day,
shivers by night, comprehensive.  

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Lady Plumber’s Song

I, the plumber, self-employed,
With five children,
Proud as queen.
Flexible time enables me to
Care for sick child, even
Attend Paren’-Teacher conference.
On the way home,
I drop by the cemetery
At the edge of town,
To set the flower at his tombstone
Under the full moon.
“I fixed them all today!” I tell him.
“The clogged toilets at the Sam’s Club.”
So, I smell it.
I almost hear him saying
With mocking gesture.
Only then do I recall the stench that
I perceived as aroma of lilac,
My children in need of
My support. My children,
Yours and mine,
Force of my life.
I am a lady plumber,
Proud as queen.

(The stanzas and indentations of the original poem
are unable to show here due to the problem of WP editor.)

©Byung A. Fallgren

The Lady Plumber’s Song first appeared in
the Santa Clara Review, Volume 107, Issue 2, Spring 2020.
Santa Clara Review is the magazine Published by
Santa Clara University.  To subscribe the magazine, please
email santaclarareview@gmail.com.