"The smudge is bothering my cat..."

Outside, minding my own business. 

Neighbor, two stories up, out on the balcony smoking a cigarette.

I light my sage smudge stick and begin smudging my husband,

A warrior, grieving for his people.

Emotional exhaustion kicks in and I prepare to be smudged.

Another warrior, grieving for her people.

And then the neighbor speaks...

"The smudge is bothering my cat."

A continued narrative plays over and over again like a record

It's on repeat and unbroken.

Rage, unsettles my skin.

Do I make evident the irony of her claim?

Do I say something?

Will she call the police if I say something?

Angry white people have rights to their emotions.

My emotions come with a price.

Rage boils the sweetness of my Indigenous blood into oblivion.

I sit. I sit. I say fuck a lot and I sit.

I ask the great Quetzalcoatl to temper this festering. 

Lava hot rage, molten in my soul.

I sit, I sit. I say fuck some more, and I sit. 

I get so mad I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.

I laugh at my neighbor choking on her cigarette habit. 

The irony kicks in. 

Maybe I'll use tobacco instead of sage next time.

Nah, probably not.