Red High Chair

Painting by Andrea Brueck


Red High Chair

1.
My earliest memories on this earth
are of the sun.
I am in my mother’s kitchen in Tulsa
sitting in my red high chair.
Sun is a bright being.
I see the sun’s breath as
a stream of light filled with energy.
I love nothing better than to be inside it,
to breathe it.
When I was five I noticed that my pet dog
Alligator also loved the sun
and curled up into a circle where
it warmed the ground.
This morning I need the recharge,
the illumination, and the words
from the sun reminding me to keep going,
to keep compassion in my heart
no matter the challenges.
And there are challenges.
We all know them, share them,
labor under them and emerge from them stronger,
with the insight we need to grow.
We live in complicated times.

When I return to the time
of that child in the high chair,
life was deep and complex, yet simple.
There was no television blasting
and our minds hadn’t yet been wrapped
with the tentacles of need
for the Internet, computers, or computer games.
I remember my mother singing,
often to the radio.
Pop and dessert were treats,
not daily addictions.
Yet, those times weren’t perfect.
My family had the usual problems
that besiege Indian country residents.
What was foremost was the presence
of the sky and earth,
and having the time to listen, to hear.

2.
My earliest memories on this earth are of the sun. I am in my mother’s kitchen in Tulsa sitting in my red high chair. Sun is a bright being. I see the sun’s breath as a stream of light filled with energy. I love nothing better than to be inside it, to breathe it. When I was five I noticed that my pet dog Alligator also loved the sun and curled up into a circle where it warmed the ground. This morning I need the recharge, the illumination, and the words from the sun reminding me to keep going, to keep compassion in my heart no matter the challenges. And there are challenges. We all know them, share them, labor under them and emerge from them stronger, with the insight we need to grow. We live in complicated times.

When I return to the time of that child in the high chair, life was deep and complex, yet simple. There was no television blasting and our minds hadn’t yet been wrapped with the tentacles of need for the Internet, computers, or computer games. I remember my mother singing, often to the radio. Pop and dessert were treats, not daily addictions. Yet, those times weren’t perfect. My family had the usual problems that besiege Indian country residents. What was foremost was the presence of the sky and earth, and having the time to listen, to hear.


Joy Harjo August 2009

Posted over on Joy Harjo's Poetic Adventures In The Last World Blog
1. Line breaks by Glenn Buttkus
2. Delightful prose by Joy Harjo.