The Aborigine 

Gus, who goes by the name of place 

that knows no name,

he brought me here.

no face

no fear

no attachment

no then

no that

Feel pulled as an ocean that left salt

moving topaz blue

deposits in remembrance on shins and elbows,

lied down during the forest,

buffalo grass smells like aloe and donkey tail cactus

hoarding water to comfort itchy skin

talking to my back.

Rabbits wonder why the squirrels stare at me

flow does the river where only the channel catfish know my name

as I swim.

Given back to the boomerang

scented by the spring lilac that hid me until summer tiger lilies dismounted

from the backs of lightening bugs.

I stood facing her, 

the deer whistled to come home

It was time to make the dance of bear.

A thump and pain made me human

physical in place that had no words

It must thump and pump

So the liver must focus

transporting the voice I have become.

– Rachelle Bose