Aak’ei Tsin, Changing Trees
are a reminder that ayóó nineez / extremely tall / ayóó nineez
& nizhoní / beautiful / nizhoní
things holó / exist / holó in this world.
Inked gáagii / crow / gáagii branches, drowned mutters,
throwing beaks in the air, the níłchi / wind / níłchi,
like fingers that pull & point at the yá / sky / yá.
In shimasaní’s backyard a line of cedar tsin / trees / tsin drops leaves at our bare feet.
I’ve never climbed a dził / mountain / dził
but I’ve rolled over hills & hills & hills, / dah yisk’id & dah yisk’id & dah yisk’id,
crawling like my uncle’s ATV, over my masaní’s charred
awoo’ / teeth / awoo’.
“Yáadiláh! Don’t be all rowdy,” is what she’d say.
I’ve stepped over shimá’s palm fissures, cracks in the tsé / rock / tsé that
mold into foot holes & ledges for climbing,
down, down, down / yaago, yaago, yaago
into her nailbeds tucked away like sleeping ałchini / children / ałchini.
Yishááł / I’ve walked / yishááł
on shizhé’é’s wet clay spine, the kind that
late Bini’ant’ááts’ózí / August / Bini’ant’ááts’ózí
rains & September
Red Valley floods tore through, touching shinalí’s chizh / wooden / chizh corral,
eaten & chewed between decades of béégaashí / cow / béégaashí jaws.
I’ve swam in shinalí’s sin / songs / sin,
sang in Diné kéji / Navajo / Diné kéji, patting my back,
rocking me to sleep with an itchy woven blanket.
But I kept one anáá’ / eye / anáá’ peeled.
Nimaasí / potato / nimaasí skin eyelids & cubed spam breakfasts over fall
shándíín / sunlight / shándíín spreading shadows
like landscapes, their bits’íís / bodies / bits’íís
become wide arching tsin trucks.
Ádóó shímasaní
dóó shimá
dóó shizhé’é
dóó shinalí
are reminders that extremely strong and knowing beings
holó / exist / holó in this world,
alongside the changing
aak’ei tsin / autumn tree.
Source: Poetry (March 2025)