I close my eyes and will my soul to follow the rhythm of drums.
Instead my breath reaches deep and the saxophone blows night
air, touching the moon high above the ponderosa pines. I am
bare feet, a purple mountain lily, a batik skirt swirling in the
afternoon sun. Thick dollops of rain drop thump and we dance
until we are sliding on meadow grass wet with mud. I count white
butterflies one, two—a man stands naked, warrior pose, his gaze
distant and strong. Behind the teepee a red-bandanaed shaman
sweeps away spirits with his bundle brush of sage whispering
truths you may or may not be ready to hear. He gave me three
kernels of blue corn.
Jennifer Simpson received her MFA in Creative Writing this spring (2012) from the University of New Mexico. Her work has appeared in Bartelby Snopes, Creative Human, StyleStubstanceSoul.com, and “A Year in Ink, Vol. V,” an anthology of San Diego writers. She is the founder Duke City DimeStories, an open mic for prose.