Thursday, June 01, 2006
From Old Los Angeles...
I'm spending a week with the Native Voices at the Autry theatre compnay, developing new plays with four other really really good people: Diane Glancy, Drew Hayden Taylor, James Lujan, and Rhianna Yazzie. All of our work is very different and this process is amazing. Thanks to the actors, dramaturgs, the Autry, and Jean Bruce Scott and Randy Reinholz for this amazing opportunity!
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Wandering at night under stars and a moon of time in distant skies and stars of life. At night she whispers a prayer and the world falls silent. Light dots the landscape reflecting stars off the black ocean sky and her voice pares away at the noise like the knife at her belt. Her eyes stars and blessing, once the quiet stills, she moves across hills across sage
Chapparal and wild alata, singing a song that keeps sleep at the place behind our eyes. The quiet keeps us down but for her the silence is music, a song of heart and memory
like stars that shine her way light across a desert plain. Lifting her ears, they move forward, back close to her head. She sniffs the ground and on wings of sand and glass
takes flight toward the cry of someone’s child upon the wind. Bring them home, distant stars lit on your path and wisdom of the ancestors her paws stretch like wings to carry them home. Each finds a home close to her heart.
The color of the sky before sunrise and moonset summons the silence home. The sounds
of city breath and brokenness that brings us back from our dreams. From her mouth come our voices waking, rising, they drift over hills and wild alata, tobacco, sagebrush, chapparal and remnants of real and imaginary places. Taking the loss within her wings
she flies home, rooting the lost ones to her breasts. Flying unladen now, they move across the shining sky the in-betweens and the lost ones have found their home As the sun rises, giving voice back to the ones who have none.
__________________
Wandering at night under stars and a moon of time in distant skies and stars of life. At night she whispers a prayer and the world falls silent. Light dots the landscape reflecting stars off the black ocean sky and her voice pares away at the noise like the knife at her belt. Her eyes stars and blessing, once the quiet stills, she moves across hills across sage
Chapparal and wild alata, singing a song that keeps sleep at the place behind our eyes. The quiet keeps us down but for her the silence is music, a song of heart and memory
like stars that shine her way light across a desert plain. Lifting her ears, they move forward, back close to her head. She sniffs the ground and on wings of sand and glass
takes flight toward the cry of someone’s child upon the wind. Bring them home, distant stars lit on your path and wisdom of the ancestors her paws stretch like wings to carry them home. Each finds a home close to her heart.
The color of the sky before sunrise and moonset summons the silence home. The sounds
of city breath and brokenness that brings us back from our dreams. From her mouth come our voices waking, rising, they drift over hills and wild alata, tobacco, sagebrush, chapparal and remnants of real and imaginary places. Taking the loss within her wings
she flies home, rooting the lost ones to her breasts. Flying unladen now, they move across the shining sky the in-betweens and the lost ones have found their home As the sun rises, giving voice back to the ones who have none.
