An American Sunrise
Note: I wrote this in late July for the August edition of The Bookshelf, in anticipation of a road trip that has now taken place.
Years ago, out of the blue, my buddy Barnabas sent me a book of poetry called An American Sunrise (Norton) by Joy Harjo, the twenty-third poet laureate of the United States. It was a thoughtful gift from a thoughtful friend.
Even though Harjo is from Oklahoma (and even though I live in a state that is itself home to many Native persons and communities), for some reason this has always felt like a book I should wait to read until I find myself in New Mexico. So that’s exactly what I intend to do.
When I wake up at our hotel in Santa Fe in a few days, I’ll find a chair—ideally outside, in the cool high desert air—and will sit down with a cup of strong black coffee. I’ll take few deep breaths, listen to the birds. And then I’ll turn to a poem that seems fitting, maybe “Bless This Land” or “A Refuge in the Smallest of Places.” Perhaps the title poem, “An American Sunrise.” Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll start at the beginning, with the epigraph by Ray Young Bear, a line about healing being tied to a recognition of what has been lost.
