I Voted
I voted. I voted for the rainbow. I voted for the cry of a loon. I voted for my grandfather’s bones that feed beetles now. I voted for a singing brook that sparkles under a North Dakota bean field. I voted for salty air through which the whimbrel flies South along the shores of two continents. I voted for melting snow that returns to the wellspring of darkness, where the sky is born from the earth. I voted for daemonic mushrooms in the loam, and the old democracy of worms. I voted for the wordless treaty that cannot be broken by white men or brown, because it is made of star semen, thistle sap, hieroglyphs of the weevil in prairie oak. I voted to keep the edges of the vineyard ragged and ungleaned for the hungry stranger. I voted for the local, the small, the brim that does not spill over, the abolition of waste, the luxury of enough. I voted for a motherland where politics dissolves into folk music, story-telling, fermented cabbage, totem-carved hoes handed down fro...
