The Earth Forgets


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they buried their elders by firs and pines
but the good earth has sucked back their bones,
washed the soil clean.
they, who sang sacred songs,
who swore they came from the sky
and the umbilical cord of the Earth.

today they drum. dance. 
hold their feathered headdresses.
shelter themselves
in their ceremonial teepees.
yet each day they wear suits and ties. drive trucks.
travel Greyhound. walk, talk, sell insurance.
but they have not forgotten.
they note the coyote's eyes when he trots the land.
in the woodlands, they see the old gardens,
lakeshore villages
and nets filled with fish.
and their fathers and mothers
who rode the sacred groves,
wandered the Oregon valleys,
crossed the fertile lands,
and the craggy Steens and Wallowas.

today the vast land holds ranches,
timber yards, glass factories,
fenced fields, industrial stacks,
ports, docks, 24-7 restaurants,
and five-star hotels.
through their ancestral trails
rivers run jetboats.
ski lodges offer up hot toddies.

Earth forgets with ease.
auctions off sorrow for so little.
these first people hear the voices
of their long gone elders.
as they trod through the clover and marshes,
voices affirm they are still a nation.
voices that sing from the river, the deep soil,
the green pines, the night air.
they speak with gentle promise.
with soulful eyes, they carry a brave face.
the vast lands have forgotten them,
though they not the land.