Wings of Night Sky, Wings of Morning Light. Joy Harjo

exactly on cue.

      They flooded us with light from their circle of police cars. They had been watching in the dark all that time.

      Marty was the first one dragged in and locked up. Her Cher party dress was in shreds.

      I hid out behind a bush next to a man who turned out to be one of the guy-just-out-of-prison’s friends.

      Hey, my name’s Sonny; Sonny’s short for a name that’s too difficult for English. And you?”

      His smile sprung dimples from their nest. That’s all it took.

      “I’m the friend of the guy in the dress.” We couldn’t stop laughing at our ridiculous predicament.

      After we drove over to bail out our friends, we all went for breakfast over at the all-night diner. It was packed with the pimps, prostitutes, musicians, and the rest of the hungry rough trade. Sonny turned out to be Manny’s brother-in-law’s cousin. We’re all eventually related.

      “Before we can vote on the howling contest,” I announced, “I have to enter my howl.” And then in that jamming restaurant, under florescent lights that made us look like we’d been up for years, I howled.

      AoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooAooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooAoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooo.

      “Okay. You win! Now stop before we get kicked out,” laughed Sonny, who was tight by my side, my friends, and the whole rest of the mess.

      Dreamily.

      When Sonny took my hand I just went. I didn’t ask where or why or how. I couldn’t save my mother from her keeper, or keep my father from his party. “This is my time,” I said. And Time lifted up its glorious beaded head and I latched on, and I began to fly.

      SONG: THIS IS MY HEART

      Sax riff.

      THIS IS MY HEART. IT IS A GOOD HEART.

       WEAVES A MEMBRANE OF MIST AND FIRE

       WHEN WE SPEAK LOVE IN THE FLOWER WORLD

       MY HEART IS CLOSE ENOUGH TO SING TO YOU IN A LANGUAGE TOO

      CLUMSY FOR HUMAN WORDS.

      Sax riff.

      THIS IS MY HEAD. IT IS A GOOD HEAD.

      IT WHIRRS, INSIDE WITH A SWARM OF WORRIES.

       WHAT IS THE SOURCE OF THIS MYSTERY?

       WHY CAN’T I SEE IT RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW AS REAL AS THESE

       HANDS HAMMERING THE WORLD TOGETHER?

      Sax riff.

      THIS IS MY SOUL. IT IS A GOOD SOUL.

       IT TELLS ME, “COME HERE FORGETFUL ONE.”

      AND WE SIT TOGETHER.

       WE COOK A LITTLE SOMETHING TO EAT, THEN A SIP

      OF SOMETHING SWEET, FOR MEMORY.

      Sax solo.

      SCENE 15

      Light bright.

      REDBIRD: As I flew with Sonny to the stars, my grandmother’s stories returned to me.

      Light bright night.