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 radiant sky
and the umbilical cord of the Earth.

today they drum. dance. 
hold their feathered headdresses
in mystic honor.
they shelter themselves in their ceremonial teepees.
wear suits and ties. drive trucks.
travel Greyhound. walk, talk, sell insurance daily.
but they have not forgotten the wolf.
nor the coyote's eyes when he trots the land.
in the woodlands, they see the blood beatings,
the old gardens, lakeshore villages
and nets filled with wiggling 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.
see ancient rock art dressed with watchful eyes
as they trod through the clover and marshes.
they hear voices that affirm
they are still a nation, a fury, a gathering wind,
that sings from the river, the deep soil,
the green pines into the night air.
they speak with gentle promise
and with soulful thirst. they carry a brave face.
the vast lands have forgotten them,
though they not the land.