Batter

I was able to
pour meaning on
paper, thick like batter.
Just another washed
up poet from the rez
making a living off a
language not his own.

What would grandma think?
I couldn't tell you.
I don't speak navajo.
I don't capitalize
navajo because Diné
is what we are.
 

We used to be story-tellers,
warriors, and we drew our
past with sand.
Now I'm lost in a forest
of nouns, verbs, and adjectives,
feeling their ripeness
by fondling them with my tongue,
wondering if you'll eat them up
as I lay them out.

You must have if you've
gotten this far.
I'll try not to bore you.