Loading...
Loading...
Click here if you don’t see subscription options
Joy HarjoMarch 18, 2014
At dawn the panther of the heavens peers over the edge of the world.
She hears the stars gossip with the sun, sees the moon washing her lean
darkness with water electrified by prayers. All over the world there are those
who can’t sleep, those who never awaken.
 
My granddaughter sleeps on the breast of her mother with milk on
her mouth. A fly contemplates the sweetness of lactose.
 
Her father is wrapped in the blanket of nightmares. For safety he
approaches the red hills near Thoreau. They recognize him and sing for
him.
 
Her mother has business in the house of chaos. She is a prophet dis-
guised as a young mother who is looking for a job. She appears at the
door of my dreams and we put the house back together.
 
Panther watches as human and animal souls are lifted to the heavens by
rain clouds to partake of songs of beautiful thunder.
 
Others are led by deer and antelope in the wistful hours to the vil-
lages of their ancestors. There they eat cornmeal cooked with berries
that stain their lips with purple while the tree of life flickers in the sun.
 
It’s October, though the season before dawn is always winter. On the
city streets of this desert town lit by chemical yellow travelers
search for home.
 
Some have been drinking and intimate with strangers. Others are
escapees from the night shift, sip lukewarm coffee, shift gears to the
other side of darkness.
 
One woman stops at a red light, turns over a worn tape to the last
chorus of a whispery blues. She has decided to live another day.
 
The stars take notice, as do the half-asleep flowers, prickly pear and
chinaberry tree who drink exhaust into their roots, into the earth.
 
She guns the light to home where her children are asleep and may
never know she ever left. That their fate took a turn in the land of
nightmares toward the sun may be untouchable knowledge.
 
It is a sweet sound.
 
The panther relative yawns and puts her head between her paws.
She dreams of the house of panthers and the seven steps to grace.
Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more.
Joan Maiers
11 years 3 months ago
Bravo to the author! Was this poem read at the February AWP conference in Seattle? Portland is eager to welcomeJoy Harjo for another reading in the Rose City

The latest from america

“Keeping our gaze on Jesus, we must learn to give a name and voice even to sadness, fear, anguish, indignation, bringing everything into relationship with God,” Pope Leo said
U.S. Customs and Border Protection officers guard an entrance of the Federal Building in Los Angeles on June 10, during a protest demonstration against Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) raids. (Gabrielle Lurie/San Francisco Chronicle via AP)
Masked police undermine trust and amplify fear. They do not fit a democratic society.
Tobias WinrightJune 24, 2025
Among the hopeful and fearful seeking their place in an occupied city, the Virgin—Patroness of All the Americas—is a sign that a community with humane borders and greater compassion may be possible.
D. J. WaldieJune 24, 2025
The direct action of San Diego Bishop Michael Pham is likely to leave a stronger impression in the minds of the public—and of the immigrants who are circling in and out of court—than any written statement.
Zac DavisJune 23, 2025