By Deborah Jang
Eldest daughter of Gong Chow and
Siu Shee, immigrant couple from China.
Born in Richmond, California, north
of San Francisco, just across the bay.
Named Fong Yuet for the ancestors. State-
side she was June. To me, forever Mom.
Fireworks the night before announced
her arrival July fifth nineteen thirty.
Every Independence Day she felt pangs
of affirmative glee -- as if she belonged.
At least to the sky. At nine she was sent
to Chinese school in San Francisco,
an immigrant custom she soon rejected.
She hopped on the Greyhound bus alone,
rode home to her parents’ chagrin.
At Richmond Elementary she joined
the harmonica band, worked the restaurant
after school, did not miss a shift.
During wartime the family moved
to the valley, where June was a big hit.
Team debater, class treasurer, best-dressed
girl at Merced High — she had it going on.
Chinese pilots training at the air base
lined up for her dance card. She tango’d,
cha-cha’d, bunny hopped with gusto
and soft laughter. Got a job downtown
Merced selling ladies dresses. Took up with
the owner who promised to promote her.
Post-war, Gong Chow had made plans
to return to China. The story goes June
said NO, kept her little sister with her
while the ship dipped off horizon.
June and sis stayed with Monroe, the now
betrothed store owner. He promised
her folks his good care but didn’t really
follow through, so June then divorced him
Though not before the three of us claimed
her heart forever. Dave Allen was the next guy.
With him she bore two more sons, of Chinese
Irish extraction. Bridge clubs, soccer,
cul-de-sacs filled her American sky. Especially
on July fourth her urgent eyes scanned
the night for oomph pah pah, or maybe
something keener. By now we lived back
by the bay. It was the flowered sixties.
Her five young grew out their hair,
while she and Dave plied the days
with good times, hard work, harder drink.
He died young, she carried on, the children
ventured forth. Her last man was Ken Wilkins,
though there were others in between - all this
to say, she enjoyed the company of fellows.
When Ken passed it hit her hard. The children
couldn't save her. At sixty-two June was through.
We sprinkled her at sea. I strike the gong.
It rumbles wide, ripples up night sky.
Where do the good, kindhearted go?
To lipstick smiles
left on napkins perfectly
half stuck on rims
where gin and tonics flowed
Gliding long as fingertips
that tucked me into cool
crisp sheets in days when sleep
was easy, a keeper
of shy adorations
nestled in young motherlove
Arpege, Pall Malls, show
tunes, novels, husbands
in a row, loud laughing
midnight parties
turned to shouting
or big whispers
then to fragile mornings after
Scrabble, dim sum, Niners,
grandkids
Now to ashes dancing
at the gate, not
missing one last beat.
© Deborah Jang. All Rights Reserved.
Deborah Jang writes her way through the mysteries, perplexities, and joys of being human — on this planet, at this moment, in this skin. She is also a visual artist, engaging connection through forms and objects. She wanders between Denver, CO and Oceanside, CA; between mind and heart; between land and sea. She invites you to visit her website at deborahjang.com
Crow Quotes Revisited
by MariJo Moore
Many years ago, I had a premonition of starting a little publishing company, and so I did. Crow Quotes was the first book published by rENEGADE pLANETS pUBLISHING. This was in 1996. At the time, I was admonished for being a self-published writer; one well-known book reviewer refused to review my books because of this. My, my, how times have changed. I have always been a bit ahead of my time. (The first edition of the book was published on hemp.)
So it goes. Through the past years I have written many other books: novels, poetry, fiction, non- fiction, and edited several anthologies of Indigenous writers, all which have been teachings and sharings. However, Crow Quotes has always come back to my mind, in bits and pieces of the quotes, reminding me so much about life. And by receiving, even recently, letters and emails from readers who relate how have they kept this little book by their side, relishing the quotes - some over twenty years.
Several months ago I was given another premonition - it was time to offer Crow Quotes again. Time for the book to expand and reach out into the world in a new format. And so I have. Thus, Crow Quotes Revisited.
Sample of quotes:
"Keep in mind you are a part of the whole.
The future is planted within you."
"Want to confuse a crow?
Try explaining human religions."
Cover art by noted Pueblo artist Virgi Ortiz.
For more info and to order, please visit www.marijomoore.com/booksandart.html
Thank you for supporting an independently owned company.
MariJo Moore
www.marijomoore.com
Many years ago, I had a premonition of starting a little publishing company, and so I did. Crow Quotes was the first book published by rENEGADE pLANETS pUBLISHING. This was in 1996. At the time, I was admonished for being a self-published writer; one well-known book reviewer refused to review my books because of this. My, my, how times have changed. I have always been a bit ahead of my time. (The first edition of the book was published on hemp.)
So it goes. Through the past years I have written many other books: novels, poetry, fiction, non- fiction, and edited several anthologies of Indigenous writers, all which have been teachings and sharings. However, Crow Quotes has always come back to my mind, in bits and pieces of the quotes, reminding me so much about life. And by receiving, even recently, letters and emails from readers who relate how have they kept this little book by their side, relishing the quotes - some over twenty years.
Several months ago I was given another premonition - it was time to offer Crow Quotes again. Time for the book to expand and reach out into the world in a new format. And so I have. Thus, Crow Quotes Revisited.
Sample of quotes:
"Keep in mind you are a part of the whole.
The future is planted within you."
"Want to confuse a crow?
Try explaining human religions."
Cover art by noted Pueblo artist Virgi Ortiz.
For more info and to order, please visit www.marijomoore.com/booksandart.html
Thank you for supporting an independently owned company.
MariJo Moore
www.marijomoore.com
Archive | Author
MariJo Moore
Art Works
by Robert Bensen
Sara Bates, “Honoring Circle” (sculpture)
1
Before a shop built downtown sealed over a spring and a little creek,
excavation turned up the bones of a man, his pipe and some shards
of clay
that came from this embankment above the Susquehanna—
clay that made the brick that made the shop that hides the creek
that flows through pipe that’s made with clay that made the pipe they dug
beside the man they found not long ago, long after he had turned
to clay.
2
If spirit lives in everything and everything in spirit
then the young woman with a virus raging in the head
who has fallen asleep beside Sarah's “Honoring Circle” while the
rest write
may have dreamed herself one day as pleasant as this
beside a pretty little creek above a bluff and drank from its
talkative source
in the warmth of a complicated sun, an agitated sun
flaring with seeds and pods and leaves and shells and petals,
a composed sun from whose center the crossed roads carry
what they always carry down their seven shining paths
until the red sun of evening stripes her face
and she flutters awake to find herself alone
with this work, this disk of gifts on the floor, walk about
and wonder what on earth she saw in it, and what she sees.
© Robert Bensen. All rights.
Reserved.
Robert Bensen has
published six collections of poetry, including Orenoque, Wetumka & Other Poems, and Before. His work has earned an NEA poetry fellowship, the Robert
Penn Warren Award, the Harvard Summer Poetry Prize, and Illinois Arts Council
and NY State Council on the Arts awards. His scholarship in the Caribbean and
Native America has produced essays, studies, and editions, won fellowships from
the NEH and Newberry Library, and led to teaching in St. Lucia, Trinidad and
Tobago, and Venezuela. He is the editor
of Children of the Dragonfly: Native American Voices on Child Custody and Education. He is Emeritus Professor of English at
Hartwick College (1978-2017). He teaches
at SUNY-Oneonta, and conducts a poetry workshop at Bright Hill Literary Center,
Treadwell.
Archive | Author
Robert Bensen
How Turtle Got Her Shell
by Jenny L. Davis
Did you know
Turtle
didn’t always have
a shell?
She grew it
to keep
from being crushed
fortifying
her own body
ribs
vertebrae
clavicle
into carapace and plastron
learning a whole
new way to
breath to
walk to
live
to protect
her from
predators.
She knew
safety
requires strength
survival
means fortifying
softness
© Jenny L. Davis. All rights reserved.
Jenny L. Davis (Chickasaw) is a Two-Spirit/queer Indigenous writer and professor of American Indian Studies and Anthropology. Her creative work has been featured in literary journals including the Santa Ana River Review; Transmotion; Anomaly; Broadsided; and as well as anthologies such as As/Us; Raven Chronicles; and Resist Much/Obey Little: Inaugural Poems to the Resistance.
Author of Talking Indian: Identity and Language Revitalization in the Chickasaw Renaissance (The University of Arizona Press). uapress.arizona.edu/book/talking-indian
Did you know
Turtle
didn’t always have
a shell?
She grew it
to keep
from being crushed
fortifying
her own body
ribs
vertebrae
clavicle
into carapace and plastron
learning a whole
new way to
breath to
walk to
live
to protect
her from
predators.
She knew
safety
requires strength
survival
means fortifying
softness
© Jenny L. Davis. All rights reserved.
Jenny L. Davis (Chickasaw) is a Two-Spirit/queer Indigenous writer and professor of American Indian Studies and Anthropology. Her creative work has been featured in literary journals including the Santa Ana River Review; Transmotion; Anomaly; Broadsided; and as well as anthologies such as As/Us; Raven Chronicles; and Resist Much/Obey Little: Inaugural Poems to the Resistance.
Author of Talking Indian: Identity and Language Revitalization in the Chickasaw Renaissance (The University of Arizona Press). uapress.arizona.edu/book/talking-indian
Archive | Author
Jenny L. Davis
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