When you pass the
canyon,
then it becomes real.
Then you know the indignity
of a scorpion frozen inside a paperweight.
They stole it from the desert,
killed it
and put it in a mold of glass,
its sting committed to death,
its sad fade to a paler yellow.
Trees grow from red
rock
and below them
a sign reads:
"Navajo Jewelry 'R' Us"
and
"Friendly Indians Behind You".
Welcome traveler,
to the Painted Desert
where Chief Yellow Horse
peddles multicolored blankets
and earrings
and you and I toss him a dollar
with well meant condescension.
I can never understand
this
No matter how many cruelties
you stack in my arms
I could never build a fire big enough
to warm the cold disgust that must chill inside the Dine'.
