To take back the land is to poem the de-territorialized we; to poem map (we) as insurgent, unconquered, owed to what is lost, what must be protected, and always what is shared; to harvest without accumulation, again, again.

—Zaina Alsous

write what you know: I know cicadas
swallowed by smoke. horizon choked by car
exhaust, bitter raincloud. butterfly
wings, halved by the heat

and highways. lullaby in grasses straining
to hush the uproar from the waterside. I know from
Yurok, Karuk, Hupa, Miwok, Chumash
relatives: fire licks the carcass

clean. moss and acorns soothe a blaze’s hungry
belly, whet her all-consuming eyeteeth,
welcome slumber when she is satisfied. beneath the milkweed
root, cactus rot: alkaline kaleidoscope,

world of new bones. each layer of life-giving
a heavy clot ready for bloom. I thumb parched bark
from the pine in my backyard. shed the years
she has thirsted in this drought.

upstate, the Klamath boils away beneath
a muddy sun. suffocated by the lake’s severed
body, suckerfish skim the surface. their stiff enamel
eyes dried up on arroyo

bank. all that remains: deboned
ecosystem, corpse-black wash
of trees divvied in 1906 to quench greedy
soil, avocado trees, greenery too lush  

for desert-scape. oh, let her burn softly.
let the lake regain her scattered limbs. there is sweetness
in the scorching. gentle unshelling. let those who have known
this place reach the clear water

and drink

Note: An earlier version of "Song for the black cat outside my mother’s apartment" originally appeared in print in Tulip Tree’s Wild Women Issue. An earlier version of “everything is weird…” appeared in print in Yellow Medicine Review. “Wax Cylinder” first appeared in Superstition Review, “Good Fire” in Youth to the People, and “How to be born…” in Cincinnati Review.