booty
a free verse poem for riparian: the banks of our love
I. Outside
“praise laughter in the air, yet silence in the world
praise loud chatter, children’s fun
praise saline dreams and the falling sun
praise just wanting to stay”
— from irreplaceable, Part 14
Kevin and I took a winding drive today
down Stenmark
past Pt. Molate Beach
along the San Francisco Bay
sometimes stretched in manzanita
looking for treasure
Our first visit to Black Star Pirate BBQ
for lunch and fellowship
a bit of fun outside
under a warming sun
beside cool waters
— a communion, of sorts,
to mark this first day of my writing
into our collaboration for the year
i wore a skirt
he said he could tell i was happy
just by looking
it’s been a long time inside
near solo, two years,
you know the drill cuz you’ve been, too
we ate sweet smoked meats
listened to a man in a straw cowboy hat
sing Blaze Foley’s Clay Pigeons
folks felt friendly
& i couldn’t help but like ‘em
afterwards i bought
sunglasses & a caftan
feeling good at the pop-up thrift shop
next door called Pirate’s Booty
“Cute name,” I thought
as we walked out
II. Back Home
booty n. “plunder taken (as in war)especially : plunder taken on land as distinguished from prizes taken at sea”
Last night we watched
The Wolf of Wall Street
the Scorsesee film about
stockbroker Jordan Belfort
and his bacchanal decade of plunder
beginning with sales of penny stocks to
working class investors in the late 80’s
til he ended up in jail in 2000
serving a mere 22 month
near the end of the film
as he dominates her for the last time
his wife says, “I fucking hate you, Jordan”
while he is still inside of her
she’s tired of being raped
she wants a divorce
our cultures
how they are wound
into an injury
her voice is an echo
a single note in a long chain of NO’s
that have been said for centuries
from the voices of women
to the voices of workers
to the voices of the Indigenous people
of this, and every, land
III. What Can and Must Be
“I am writing today to clearly state that the Confederated Villages of Lisjan are not in favor of any development at the Pt. Molate site that would cause more harm to our sacred sites. Having meetings on the land with City Planning staff…does not mean or imply that we agree to any of the plans to disturb our ancestors’ burial sites.” — Corrina Gould, Traditional Tribal Spokesperson, CVF, in a letter to the Richmond City Council, 8/6/2020
listen to the wing beat of
Osprey above the treeline
as we make our way back home
listen to the children
playing in sand where waters lap
the edge between land and sea
listen to eelgrass waving watery hello
to halibut and herring
in need of rest
listen to the dead
asleep where their people
laid them
perhaps we’re not meant to
penetrate everything
just listen & leave be
This poem is one in a series titled, Riparian: the banks of our love, a poetic collaboration for National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) with Samantha Wallen and Michelle Puckett. To read the previous poem in the series click HERE. To read the next poem in the series click HERE.
Michelle Puckett, MFA is a poet, doula, permaculturalist, coach and Co-Founder of Creating Freedom Movements, a social justice school for activists. All of her work aims to nourish the sacred and make it plain in every day life.
