by Ray A. Young Bear

Immediately after the two brothers entered

The Seafood Shoppe with their wide-eyed wives

and extra-brown complexioned stepchildren，

the shrimp scampi sauce suddenly altered

its taste to bitter dishsoap. It took a moment

to realize the notorious twosome were "carrying"

medicines， and that I was most likely the next

target in the supernatural shooting gallery.

It was yet another stab at my precious

shadow， ne no ke we ni， the one who

always Stands First， wildly unafraid

but vulnerable.

This placement of time， this chance meeting

at Long John Silver's had already been discussed

over the burning flower clusters， approved，

and scheduled for a divine assassination.

What an ideal place to invisibly send forth

a petraglyph thorn to the sensitive

and unsuspecting instep I thought.

Out of fear I had to spit out the masticated

crustacean into the folded Dutch bandana.

I signalled Selene with my eyes：

something is terribly wrong here.

Even in the old stories， ke ta-a ji mo na ni，

my grandmother recited there was always

disagreement， jealousy， and animosity

between supernatural deities. That

actuality for humans， me to se na ni wa ki，

however was everpresent. It didn't conclude

as an impasse that gave us the weather，

the four seasons， the stars， sun， and moon.

Everything that was held together.

Unfortunately，

there could only be one re-creation

of earth. If it was requested in the aura

of the blue flower that I die，

the aura would make sure I die. . .

Later， the invisible thorn——when removed by

resident-physicians （paying back their medical

loans）——would transform into some unidentifiable

protoplasm and continue to hide in the more

sensitive， cancer-attracting parts of the fish-eater.

In the mythical darkness that would follow

the stories the luminescent mantle of the kerosene

lamp would aptly remind me of stars who cooled

down in pre-arranged peace——to quietly wait and glow.