River Pruitt

Two Poems

Nanih Waiya

I’m trying to remember the way Mississippi smells

salted earth

ancient dust

the sweetness of cane swimming through the breeze

trying to remember where we were

before called to this

place

can emptiness be festering

underneath the red dirt

quiet rising

breathe deeply

silt and clay fills my lungs

takes up my body

beside me lay

stone and bones, mixed

into the ether un

formed

the cracks

come from underneath

and out from it

the flood

of ants

where grasshoppers should be

Original woodblock print by the author.

for amberlie

there is a small willow tree
on my block

she grows on the shoreline
of a wide river,
roots desiring
a sensation;
the wet
touch
of earth
deep where she is settled

back bending towards the
water, limbs
reaching down
to meet
with the surface—
breaking the tension
with a kiss
and the lightest touch
tracing the edges
making small ripples
with each
movement

her nimble branches,
shifting with the slightest
of the wind’s

breath,

sway rhythmically
a tune flitting through
the same way
warblers
dance through
the flowering buds
to catch their soft
Release

the river’s waters catch
all else that
falls from
the breathing in—
through
her body
and in
but a moment
a piece
is
carried
down stream

River Pruitt (they/them) is a trans Indigiqueer Chahta settler on Kanaka Maoli lands as a PhD student in English at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, beadworker, artist, and language learner. They are interested in radical Indigiqueer futures, resurgence, and their two very cute (but annoying) cats.