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Mohawk spoken-word artist Janet Marie Rogers’s newest collection pulses with the rhythms of the drum and the beat of the heart. Poems drawing on the language of the earth and inflected with the outspoken vocality of activism address the crises of modern land wars - environmental destruction, territorial disputes, and resource depletion. This collection is confessional love, learned survival, ardent resistance, and unique poetry that wants to be spoken (aloud). If poetry is medicine, Peace in Duress is a cabinet full. ice water now the temperature of tea sustains until the next rez stop, re stop, re start life elevated in Utah, gawd hours honoured in Arizona tumbleweeds and raw earth, looks like open battle wounds gorges burnt earth sagebrush holy land hot souls long roads ash-fault bill-borders built on the backs of black hispanics descent warnings foreshadowing rocks falling sun blocked bright rays make way for end-of-day rain don’t drink the poison, don’t you dare sigh with boredom hot winds die pulling down cloud poetry faces, places, displaces, wide-open Red horses of courses [from 3 Day Road]
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Mohawk spoken-word artist Janet Marie Rogers’s newest collection pulses with the rhythms of the drum and the beat of the heart. Poems drawing on the language of the earth and inflected with the outspoken vocality of activism address the crises of modern land wars - environmental destruction, territorial disputes, and resource depletion. This collection is confessional love, learned survival, ardent resistance, and unique poetry that wants to be spoken (aloud). If poetry is medicine, Peace in Duress is a cabinet full. ice water now the temperature of tea sustains until the next rez stop, re stop, re start life elevated in Utah, gawd hours honoured in Arizona tumbleweeds and raw earth, looks like open battle wounds gorges burnt earth sagebrush holy land hot souls long roads ash-fault bill-borders built on the backs of black hispanics descent warnings foreshadowing rocks falling sun blocked bright rays make way for end-of-day rain don’t drink the poison, don’t you dare sigh with boredom hot winds die pulling down cloud poetry faces, places, displaces, wide-open Red horses of courses [from 3 Day Road]