Deer Cloud

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=95 BGCOLOR="#CC99CC" TEXT="#080000" background="006265f1ezuady.png"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>FootHills 2013</B></FONT><B>  </B><B> </B><B>|   </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="FootHills 2013"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="FootHills 2013"><U>FootHills 2013</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id13.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books 2013"><U>Books 2013</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id14.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="FHP Poets Alphabetically"><U>FHP Poets Alphabetically</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id58.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="I Was Indian II Anthology"><U>I Was Indian II Anthology</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id59.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Timothy Gray"><U>Timothy Gray</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id60.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Mimi Moriarty"><U>Mimi Moriarty</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id61.htm" 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TITLE="Contact"><U>Contact</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=385 BGCOLOR="#DDDDDD" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <I>Deer Cloud</I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>Susan Deer Cloud</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>FOX MOUNTAIN</B></div> <bR> <div> <B><IMG SRC="29f2ced0.jpg" border=0 width="300" height="493" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></div> <bR> <div> <B>China has Han Shan</B></div> <div> <B>We know him as Cold Mountain</B></div> <div> <B>Writing poems on bark</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I write on Catskill boulders</B></div> <div> <B>Let me give you Fox Mountain</B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>From the book:</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When She Was a Little Girl </B></div> <bR> <div> When she was a little girl she never cried.</div> <div> Old black-and-white photographs show </div> <div> a thick-mouthed child with intense eyes,</div> <bR> <div> no smile, face too serious for its age, </div> <div> straight hair permed into fork-tongued </div> <div> curls.  When she was a woman </div> <bR> <div> sometimes she held the girl's face in her hands,   </div> <div> grieved for the child who believed Indians</div> <div> didn't cry … "part Indian" girl</div> <bR> <div> who studied the wooden Indians </div> <div> of matinees, only movies she, her brothers </div> <div> and many boy cousins could afford, </div> <bR> <div> a mere quarter.  Back in those days</div> <div> for a cheap price an Indian girl could learn</div> <div> from the big screen how to petrify her face</div> <bR> <div> in defeat … smiles vanishing forever.  </div> <div> She could even eat popcorn and penny candies </div> <div> while she vanished, too.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Dances with Snow, Fox Mountain</B></div> <bR> <div> Friends, little did I know the November night </div> <div> you invited me to Fox Mountain to celebrate </div> <div> my October birthday would be the first snowfall </div> <div> of that year.  The food was good as ever, </div> <div> the wine and other drink flowed like the rivers</div> <div> before deepest winter freezes them,</div> <div> and my face still glows from the many candles</div> <div> lit to honor my ageing.  But best of all</div> <div> was when we spilled out laughing </div> <div> onto the icy deck, snow crystals</div> <div> twinkling in the porch light and we slipping</div> <div> and sliding around like silly kids.  </div> <div> And I don't know how this happened</div> <div> but I decided to kick off my shoes</div> <div> and start dancing barefooted there </div> <div> in the high mountain night …</div> <div> fox-trotting with snow like stars drifting</div> <div> down then rising up whitely to meet</div> <div> our sparkling bodies, and me thinking</div> <div> this must be it, this must be eternity,</div> <div> while one of you snapped my picture</div> <div> so I could show the entire world</div> <div> how simple being born is …</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Susan Deer Cloud is a mixed lineage mountain Indian from the Catskills.  An alumna of Binghamton University (B.A. & M.A.) and Goddard College (MFA), she is the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship, two New York State Foundation for the Arts Poetry Fellowships, an Elizabeth George Foundation Grant and a Chenango County Council for the Arts Individual Artist Grant.  Her work has been published in numerous literary journals and anthologies; her most recent books are <I>Braiding Starlight</I>, <I>The Last Ceremony</I> & <I>Car Stealer</I>. </div> <div> She likes to eat blueberries in winter and sing to feral cats. </div> <div> You can write to her at susan.poetrymatters@gmail.com or visit her website at sites.google.com/site/susandeercloud/</div> <bR> <div> <IMG SRC="2b14cf90.jpg" border=0 width="332" height="249" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></div> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#CC706E" FACE="Garamond" ><B>FOX MOUNTAIN</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Garamond" > </FONT>is a 80 page hand-stitched paper book with spine.   $16.00</div> <bR> <div> TO ORDER  ON-LINE                               </div> <div>       </div> <bR> <div> From the US         <form target="paypal" action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"> <input type="image" src="https://www.paypal.com/en_US/i/btn/sc-but-01.gif" border="0" name="submit" alt="Make payments with PayPal - it's fast, free and secure!"> <input type="hidden" name="add" value="1"> <input type="hidden" name="cmd" value="_cart"> <input type="hidden" name="business" value="fhp@foothillspublishing.com"> <input type="hidden" name="item_name" value="Fox Mountain "> <input type="hidden" name="item_number" value="13-7"> <input type="hidden" name="amount" value="16.00"> <input type="hidden" name="currency_code" value="USD"> </form>  </div> <bR> <div> From Canada    <form target="paypal" action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"> <input type="image" src="https://www.paypal.com/en_US/i/btn/sc-but-01.gif" border="0" name="submit" 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holds.</div> <div> But for me, Car Stealer, it will always be </div> <div> your name alone.  It will be that boy</div> <div> of twelve, fourteen, sixteen burning </div> <div> rubber down School Street where I </div> <div> watched from white pine I used to </div> <div> climb.  “Hey, Sexy Susie,” you laughed </div> <div> through one of many rolled down windows,</div> <div> “come on, Babe, go for a ride with me!”</div> <div> I gazed down, hugging the pine</div> <div> the way maybe you ached for me </div> <div> to embrace you, but what did I know?</div> <div> The silky pine needles teased</div> <div> my face trying not to smile when </div> <div> you blew me crazy kisses, roared </div> <div> between my parents' house </div> <div> and brick school we both hated.  </div> <div> Car Stealer, did you suspect </div> <div> I thought you beautiful ~ skin </div> <div> color of Catskill clay, hair black</div> <div> as manes of wild horses I cried for? </div> <div> Hair streaming past defiant shoulders</div> <div> before the white boys made long hair</div> <div> a fashion statement!  My mother </div> <div> warned me, so I never learned the deeps</div> <div> of your flesh, scent, touch except rough </div> <div> bark, sap, sun-heated needles tattooing </div> <div> your thefts into my virgin skin. </div> <div> Car Stealer, one day you stopped</div> <div> speeding down our narrow street.</div> <div> My mother claimed they locked you</div> <div> in a place for juvenile delinquents.</div> <div> I stole out to the road, believing</div> <div> she lied, waiting to hear “Sexy Susie” </div> <div> sparkling like chrome off your tongue, </div> <div> ready to hitch a ride in a red convertible, </div> <div> top down, our entangled hair </div> <div> tearless trails in the wind.</div> <bR> <div> <I><B>Car Stealer</B></I><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Comic Sans MS" > is a 40 page hand-stitched chapbook - $10.00</FONT></div> <bR> <div> TO ORDER  ON-LINE  <FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Garamond" >                             </FONT></div> <div>       </div> <bR> <div> From the US         <form target="paypal" action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"> <input type="image" src="https://www.paypal.com/en_US/i/btn/sc-but-01.gif" border="0" name="submit" alt="Make payments with PayPal - it's fast, free and secure!"> <input type="hidden" name="add" value="1"> <input type="hidden" name="cmd" value="_cart"> <input type="hidden" name="business" value="fhp@foothillspublishing.com"> <input type="hidden" name="item_name" value="Car Stealer"> <input type="hidden" name="item_number" value="10--05"> <input type="hidden" name="amount" value="10.00"> <input type="hidden" name="currency_code" value="USD"> </form>  </div> <bR> <div> From Canada    <form target="paypal" action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"> <input type="image" src="https://www.paypal.com/en_US/i/btn/sc-but-01.gif" border="0" name="submit" alt="Make payments with PayPal - 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stopping </div> <div> at a path we mountain Indians knew about, </div> <div> stepping behind one another, hands brushing </div> <div> the bent ferns.  The ceremony never stolen </div> <div> was walking a stony trail to a cliff, where</div> <div> we made our stand with oaks, spruces, maples,</div> <div> a few surviving hemlocks.  I am not going to lie.</div> <div> We still had a family, in some ways a tribe.</div> <div> But our prayer was staring across valleys </div> <div> at Catskill peaks answering us</div> <div> with blue.  </div> <bR> <div> My brothers, once I dreamed </div> <div> of Cheyenne stallions and Cherokee fire.  </div> <div> My sister, once I cried for Chippewa bear medicine </div> <div> when they cut my tongue.  Can I pretend otherwise?  </div> <div> The last ceremony left to me is riding  </div> <div> the broken horses of love off cliffs. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> CONTENTS</div> <bR> <div> Marlon Brando Dies at 80     </div> <div> Half-Breed at Ten Years Old, the Great Depression      </div> <div> Her Pocahontas      </div> <div> Suzy Doll      </div> <div> Welcome to the Land of Ma'am      </div> <div> You Really Have      </div> <div> Old Man      </div> <div> Wonder Bread        </div> <div> Harvest      </div> <div> Tear      </div> <div> First Time       </div> <div> Your America, My Turtle Island     </div> <div> WHIM       </div> <div> Sexiest Tribe in America     </div> <div> Fear      </div> <div> Before Christmas That Year      </div> <div> Catskill      </div> <div> Tweed     </div> <div> Shadow Dream      </div> <div> Winter's End White Dream      </div> <div> Riding with Gold      </div> <div> Driving Home Tonight      </div> <div> Bering Strait Binary Star      </div> <div> The Last Words      </div> <div> White Dress       </div> <div> Raven Goes to College     </div> <div> Passing      </div> <div> When I am a Tree      </div> <div> I Wish I Had Written This Poetry      </div> <div> The Dirt in the Gallery Across from the Old Whorehouse      </div> <div> Bear      </div> <div> Whale Watch      </div> <div> Pemaquid      </div> <div> Holocaust Museum      </div> <div> Vincent Van Gogh Writes to Jeanne Louise Calment      </div> <div> Yellow Girl, I Give You      </div> <div> Fear of Bag Ladies      </div> <div> Canvas      </div> <div> When My Oldest Brother Turns      </div> <div> Buffalo Nickel Makes Return      </div> <div> Why I Love Being an Indian      </div> <div> After Reading Your Snow Poems      </div> <div> Encampment      </div> <div> Moon Seeing      </div> <div> One Good Indian Man      </div> <div> Bear Medicine      </div> <div> Rock Hard     </div> <div> Rock `n Roll Ravens      </div> <div> Burial      </div> <div> The Only Ceremony We Had Left To Us      </div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>The Last Ceremony</I></div> <div> is an 88 page hand-sewn paper book with spine - $16.00</div> <bR> <bR> <div> TO ORDER  ON-LINE </div> <bR> <div> <B>            <form target="paypal" 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