Poem: "Kokopelli Returns"
This poem is spillover from the April 20, 2021 Bonus Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
freshbakedlady. It also fills the "Taking on a new role" square in my 1-3-21 card for the Fresh Starts Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by fuzzyred. It belongs to the Daughters of the Apocalypse series.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes personal difficulties, two unplanned pregnancies despite using protection, the apocalypse, the Grunge, mass casualties, refugees, environmental casualties, the Mescalero Apache shooting refugees, dangerous contamination of goods scavenged from cities, food issues, Navajo expansionism, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Kokopelli Returns"
[0 A.E.]
Joe's life was hard enough
even before the world
actually went to hell.
He had knocked up
his first girlfriend at 16
(while using a condom)
and his second at 17
(while using a condom
and birth control pills) so
he couldn't even blame
them for dumping him.
Then the bombs fell,
and while the Pueblos
were spared because
of their modest size,
the rest of New Mexico
was not so fortunate.
Albuquerque was just gone.
So were Las Cruces,
Rio Ranch, and Santa Fe.
Even the larger towns got hit,
and the only saving grace
was that lots of the state was
very sparsely populated and
thus not much of a target.
With cities largely reduced
to ruins, the refugee losses ran
high due to the harsh environment.
The reservations of Isleta, Laguna,
Sandia, Santa Ana, Jemez Canyon,
and San Felipe were all flooded with
refugees pouring out of Albuquerque.
Tesuque and Cochiti Lake got a lot
of the refugees from Santa Fe.
The Pueblos who had good relations
with their neighbors took in as many
as they could afford to -- especially
children, who seemed less prone to die
of whatever crud the bombs were spewing.
Those with less positive relations, or
worse neighbors depending how you
looked at it, were not as sympathetic.
Refugees fleeing northeast from
Alamagordo ran into the guns of
the Mescalero Apache, who were
fed up with white people, and
few of them escaped alive.
As far as Joe was concerned,
they got what they deserved.
Nobody with a lick of sense tried
to fuck with the Mescalero Apache.
More sensibly, Joe and his people
huddled in the Jemez Indian Reservation
and just concentrated on surviving.
[1 A.E.]
After a year, most of the refugees
had either died off or adapted
to life in a totally changed world.
To the Pueblos, not a lot had
changed. They were used to
shortages. It was kind of nice
not to have the government
bugging them anymore, though.
The Jemez People began to shift
back toward traditional practices.
They also reached out to other Pueblos
in the area, sending runners to see
who had survived the End Times.
Joe was among those chosen,
because he was tall and athletic,
able to run fast and far, going
all day long over rough ground.
He learned that the Pueblos
closest to the big cities had fared
the worst, while more isolated ones
had survived with less damage.
People were trying to start up
trade again, but it was hard,
because things scavenged
from the cities could kill,
often without any warning.
Joe did a little trading,
only things that he and
his people had made, but
everyone was understandably
wary of outside supplies now.
He didn't know how to fix that.
Frustrated, he went home and
flopped into his bed, exhausted.
Joe dreamed of the baking desert sun
and woke with his bed soaked in sweat,
even though the nights got cold.
At first he felt confused,
unsure of the connection.
Then he realized -- the sun!
The power of the sun
would keep them safe,
destroying the threat.
Joe went out and found
some stuff brought out by
a few daring scavengers,
mostly tools made of metal.
First he rinsed each item
with water and let it dry.
Next he cleansed it all
with white cornmeal and
scrubbed it with wads of
pxuah on a cedar stick.
Then he let it sit in the sun
for four days, using sticks
to turn each piece at dawn.
Afterwards he repeated
the cleansing process.
Finally, he put the items
in a pen with a cow.
Brutal trial and error
after the End had
revealed that what
killed humans wouldn't
always kill small animals,
but would kill big ones.
The cow lived, so
the method worked.
That night, Joe dreamed
of flute music and the feel
of a heavy pack on his back.
In the pale light of dawn,
he scrubbed his face,
stunned by the revelation.
The Kokopelli Spirit had returned.
He had returned, and he had
chosen Joe to do his work.
So Joe fetched his pack and
took the sun-blessed things
as his starting trade stock.
He would need to find
a seed bank, if he could,
because food was an issue.
The commercial farms had
grown potatoes and grapes
in his area, which propagated
readily enough, but many others
didn't reproduce nearly as well.
The Penasco Cheese Squash,
the Blue Corn, the Anasazi Beans,
they were all doing just fine.
It was the same with the livestock.
The bison were expanding, while
the Criollo cattle and Churro sheep
were fine. The Angus beef cattle
and Holstein dairy cows were all
struggling to survive the Aftermath.
Kokopelli Joe shouldered his pack,
called his dog, and set out walking.
He played flute music to let
the Pueblos know that he
was approaching, and
they welcomed him.
When he explained how
to purify things that might
have come from a city,
the people rejoiced.
They eagerly took
what he had to trade,
and gave him new items.
Someone had indeed found
a seed bank, and shared
packets of Chimayo Chile
and White Posole Corn.
Yes, Kokopelli was back,
and that was good.
[3 A.E.]
Word came from the west,
and it was not good.
The Navajo had survived
the End a little too well.
Now they were looking
to expand beyond
the borders of
their reservation.
Well, who wasn't?
Except they'd started
by overrunning the Hopi
inside their own borders,
then turned outward and
gobbled up a lot of land.
The Apaches had pushed back,
stopping the Navajo at Fort Apache
in the south and Jicarilla in the east.
That wouldn't hold forever, though;
the Navajo Reservation had been
bigger than everyone else even
before they started expanding.
The Pueblos were all much smaller,
but they had one thing going for them:
they were damn good at teamwork.
Runners went out from Jemez.
Kokopelli Joe traveled light and fast,
packing only enough to get him
to the next Pueblo on the trail.
At each stop, the people listened
and began to make plans for defense.
Something else happened, too,
that he hadn't been expecting.
Old women began to approach him,
saying they had noticed that he
carried the Kokopelli power, and
asking if he could bless fertility.
Kokopelli Joe blushed and
admitted to his surprise babies.
The next thing he knew, he
was buried in young women
determined to become mothers.
He couldn't blame them; there
were so few people left now.
If he could help fix that, even
a little, it was his duty to serve.
Kokopelli Joe assisted the maidens
in every Pueblo he passed through.
Hopefully it would be enough.
[4 A.E.]
The Navajo had come
boiling out of their reservation
to be met with stiff resistance
from the Pueblo Peoples.
The old rivalry, gone cold
for many years, went hot again.
If the Navajo had expected
to roll right over them as they
had the scattered ranchers,
they were in for a surprise.
This was the Pueblo Territory
now, and they would hold it hard.
They had allied with some of
the Apache tribes, tentatively,
but nobody wanted to get overrun
by the Navajo so that was an incentive.
Kokopelli Joe even took a string of horses
southeast to visit the Mescalero Apache.
They deserved to know about the Navajo,
what was now called Dinneyland, in case
the expansion eventually threatened them.
The Mescalero were as prickly as ever,
and it turned out they were expanding
south toward the heart of their old lands.
They didn't shoot at Kokopelli Joe, but
they weren't enthusiastic about him either.
Except, that night, four Mescalero women
caught up to him on the trail so they
could ask him to bless them with babies.
Kokopelli Joe did his duty, and then
he showed them the symbol that
Pueblo mothers were tattooing
on his babies to mark them as kin.
It was inspired by rock art of
the old ithyphallic Kokopelli Spirit,
his cock proudly erect like the codpiece
that Joe had taken to wearing as a way
of advertising his personal services.
The maidens giggled at the image,
but promised to follow the custom.
Kokopelli Joe even told them about
plans to arrange gathers among
the Pueblos, so that people could
trade and hopefully exchange mates.
They looked at each other and
promised to consider that.
In the Aftermath, you couldn't
have too many friends.
Kokopelli Joe made his way
back to Pueblo Territory.
He traveled northwest,
toward home, but he
stopped at every Pueblo
along the winding trail.
At each stop, young mothers
brought out their new babies,
proudly showing off the tattoos
that marked Kokopelli's children.
The world might be a wreck,
but it was beginning to recover.
Kokopelli's blessing had seen to that.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear elsewhere.
freshbakedlady. It also fills the "Taking on a new role" square in my 1-3-21 card for the Fresh Starts Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by fuzzyred. It belongs to the Daughters of the Apocalypse series.Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes personal difficulties, two unplanned pregnancies despite using protection, the apocalypse, the Grunge, mass casualties, refugees, environmental casualties, the Mescalero Apache shooting refugees, dangerous contamination of goods scavenged from cities, food issues, Navajo expansionism, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Kokopelli Returns"
[0 A.E.]
Joe's life was hard enough
even before the world
actually went to hell.
He had knocked up
his first girlfriend at 16
(while using a condom)
and his second at 17
(while using a condom
and birth control pills) so
he couldn't even blame
them for dumping him.
Then the bombs fell,
and while the Pueblos
were spared because
of their modest size,
the rest of New Mexico
was not so fortunate.
Albuquerque was just gone.
So were Las Cruces,
Rio Ranch, and Santa Fe.
Even the larger towns got hit,
and the only saving grace
was that lots of the state was
very sparsely populated and
thus not much of a target.
With cities largely reduced
to ruins, the refugee losses ran
high due to the harsh environment.
The reservations of Isleta, Laguna,
Sandia, Santa Ana, Jemez Canyon,
and San Felipe were all flooded with
refugees pouring out of Albuquerque.
Tesuque and Cochiti Lake got a lot
of the refugees from Santa Fe.
The Pueblos who had good relations
with their neighbors took in as many
as they could afford to -- especially
children, who seemed less prone to die
of whatever crud the bombs were spewing.
Those with less positive relations, or
worse neighbors depending how you
looked at it, were not as sympathetic.
Refugees fleeing northeast from
Alamagordo ran into the guns of
the Mescalero Apache, who were
fed up with white people, and
few of them escaped alive.
As far as Joe was concerned,
they got what they deserved.
Nobody with a lick of sense tried
to fuck with the Mescalero Apache.
More sensibly, Joe and his people
huddled in the Jemez Indian Reservation
and just concentrated on surviving.
[1 A.E.]
After a year, most of the refugees
had either died off or adapted
to life in a totally changed world.
To the Pueblos, not a lot had
changed. They were used to
shortages. It was kind of nice
not to have the government
bugging them anymore, though.
The Jemez People began to shift
back toward traditional practices.
They also reached out to other Pueblos
in the area, sending runners to see
who had survived the End Times.
Joe was among those chosen,
because he was tall and athletic,
able to run fast and far, going
all day long over rough ground.
He learned that the Pueblos
closest to the big cities had fared
the worst, while more isolated ones
had survived with less damage.
People were trying to start up
trade again, but it was hard,
because things scavenged
from the cities could kill,
often without any warning.
Joe did a little trading,
only things that he and
his people had made, but
everyone was understandably
wary of outside supplies now.
He didn't know how to fix that.
Frustrated, he went home and
flopped into his bed, exhausted.
Joe dreamed of the baking desert sun
and woke with his bed soaked in sweat,
even though the nights got cold.
At first he felt confused,
unsure of the connection.
Then he realized -- the sun!
The power of the sun
would keep them safe,
destroying the threat.
Joe went out and found
some stuff brought out by
a few daring scavengers,
mostly tools made of metal.
First he rinsed each item
with water and let it dry.
Next he cleansed it all
with white cornmeal and
scrubbed it with wads of
pxuah on a cedar stick.
Then he let it sit in the sun
for four days, using sticks
to turn each piece at dawn.
Afterwards he repeated
the cleansing process.
Finally, he put the items
in a pen with a cow.
Brutal trial and error
after the End had
revealed that what
killed humans wouldn't
always kill small animals,
but would kill big ones.
The cow lived, so
the method worked.
That night, Joe dreamed
of flute music and the feel
of a heavy pack on his back.
In the pale light of dawn,
he scrubbed his face,
stunned by the revelation.
The Kokopelli Spirit had returned.
He had returned, and he had
chosen Joe to do his work.
So Joe fetched his pack and
took the sun-blessed things
as his starting trade stock.
He would need to find
a seed bank, if he could,
because food was an issue.
The commercial farms had
grown potatoes and grapes
in his area, which propagated
readily enough, but many others
didn't reproduce nearly as well.
The Penasco Cheese Squash,
the Blue Corn, the Anasazi Beans,
they were all doing just fine.
It was the same with the livestock.
The bison were expanding, while
the Criollo cattle and Churro sheep
were fine. The Angus beef cattle
and Holstein dairy cows were all
struggling to survive the Aftermath.
Kokopelli Joe shouldered his pack,
called his dog, and set out walking.
He played flute music to let
the Pueblos know that he
was approaching, and
they welcomed him.
When he explained how
to purify things that might
have come from a city,
the people rejoiced.
They eagerly took
what he had to trade,
and gave him new items.
Someone had indeed found
a seed bank, and shared
packets of Chimayo Chile
and White Posole Corn.
Yes, Kokopelli was back,
and that was good.
[3 A.E.]
Word came from the west,
and it was not good.
The Navajo had survived
the End a little too well.
Now they were looking
to expand beyond
the borders of
their reservation.
Well, who wasn't?
Except they'd started
by overrunning the Hopi
inside their own borders,
then turned outward and
gobbled up a lot of land.
The Apaches had pushed back,
stopping the Navajo at Fort Apache
in the south and Jicarilla in the east.
That wouldn't hold forever, though;
the Navajo Reservation had been
bigger than everyone else even
before they started expanding.
The Pueblos were all much smaller,
but they had one thing going for them:
they were damn good at teamwork.
Runners went out from Jemez.
Kokopelli Joe traveled light and fast,
packing only enough to get him
to the next Pueblo on the trail.
At each stop, the people listened
and began to make plans for defense.
Something else happened, too,
that he hadn't been expecting.
Old women began to approach him,
saying they had noticed that he
carried the Kokopelli power, and
asking if he could bless fertility.
Kokopelli Joe blushed and
admitted to his surprise babies.
The next thing he knew, he
was buried in young women
determined to become mothers.
He couldn't blame them; there
were so few people left now.
If he could help fix that, even
a little, it was his duty to serve.
Kokopelli Joe assisted the maidens
in every Pueblo he passed through.
Hopefully it would be enough.
[4 A.E.]
The Navajo had come
boiling out of their reservation
to be met with stiff resistance
from the Pueblo Peoples.
The old rivalry, gone cold
for many years, went hot again.
If the Navajo had expected
to roll right over them as they
had the scattered ranchers,
they were in for a surprise.
This was the Pueblo Territory
now, and they would hold it hard.
They had allied with some of
the Apache tribes, tentatively,
but nobody wanted to get overrun
by the Navajo so that was an incentive.
Kokopelli Joe even took a string of horses
southeast to visit the Mescalero Apache.
They deserved to know about the Navajo,
what was now called Dinneyland, in case
the expansion eventually threatened them.
The Mescalero were as prickly as ever,
and it turned out they were expanding
south toward the heart of their old lands.
They didn't shoot at Kokopelli Joe, but
they weren't enthusiastic about him either.
Except, that night, four Mescalero women
caught up to him on the trail so they
could ask him to bless them with babies.
Kokopelli Joe did his duty, and then
he showed them the symbol that
Pueblo mothers were tattooing
on his babies to mark them as kin.
It was inspired by rock art of
the old ithyphallic Kokopelli Spirit,
his cock proudly erect like the codpiece
that Joe had taken to wearing as a way
of advertising his personal services.
The maidens giggled at the image,
but promised to follow the custom.
Kokopelli Joe even told them about
plans to arrange gathers among
the Pueblos, so that people could
trade and hopefully exchange mates.
They looked at each other and
promised to consider that.
In the Aftermath, you couldn't
have too many friends.
Kokopelli Joe made his way
back to Pueblo Territory.
He traveled northwest,
toward home, but he
stopped at every Pueblo
along the winding trail.
At each stop, young mothers
brought out their new babies,
proudly showing off the tattoos
that marked Kokopelli's children.
The world might be a wreck,
but it was beginning to recover.
Kokopelli's blessing had seen to that.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear elsewhere.