A Parrot Dance At Shungopovi*

    by Gary David


Into the plaza the sun’s veined hand 
swirls like crystal rain in sandstone 
basins color on color: cotton cloth 
& painted mask, kilt & feather, breath 
of muffled song. Kit fox 
fur skin trails behind, scarlet 
sash with turquoise pendant 
in front. Spruce ruff & rainbow 
parrot plumes flutter. Squash gourd rattles 
sizzle through low corn chant & thunder. Urges 
force bean growth forth from dry earth 
to green warmth as snake-strike lightning 
cleaves blue clouds down a round 
horizon’s selvage stitched with darkness.

The great katsina wheel turns 
upon heartbeats slow as seasons 
dancing. Stately as star spirits 
spinning the heavens of elders, dancers 
wheel as one through the blood 
vultures’ afternoon drone 
of a lone cottonwood drum.

In cosmos mundane chaos muddles 
this circle’s sacred middle: Tsuku 
yellow clay belly clowns strut, suck 
cigarettes or cans of Coke, bob balloon 
blond quips. Monikers in black 
laugh across each back, names like:

Dumb Boss      What Am I?      Absent
Mind      B-Yee What Do I Know?

Parody of Pahana, they poke
fat upon one whirly polly, rasp ribs 
of another scrawny bird-leg, screech & deride 
the great katsina wheel which

turns          turns inside        turns inside out

the ancient journey from parrot jungles 
to Second Mesa’s blessing rain.



*Shungopovi is a village on the Hopi Reservation. 
Pahana is the Hopi word for “white man.”