this is the cosmos
the board is embroidered
with and tells its story.
All the board's a stage,
the deer our little brother.
In Easter, blood-red flowers grow
in the desert of our penance.
Starving for sky and sunshine,
the poet covered himself with ashes.
The Elders, wise, know the Yoemem
have this power others can't explain.
The threads of history and kinship
are knitted forever
on this board
which is a door:
The board is embroidered
and opens up a story
of worlds in danger
worlds in war
the deer comes from the wilderness,
enchanted. The deer dances, dances,
dances in the flower world.
Our spirits will fly like birds.
I'm a lecturer, researcher and editor. I'm interested in many things and do work in many areas. I'm into human-computer interaction design, digital humanities, comics studies, scholarly communications, open access, open data, ethics, public health, politics, media, journalism, human rights. You can follow me on Twitter @ernestopriego.
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