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 ceremonially killed animals,
then washed their hands.
who carved great mystic birds,
but who came from the umbilical cord
of tragedy, the blood drippings,
the siege of gunshots and the settlers fierce lust.
they sang from the lap of the Mother.
they sang her sacred songs.

today they still stroll their tribal lands.
their cultural palace endures.
the conqueror has not won.
we see ancient faces painted on river rocks,
a daily reckoning of the long dead years.
reservation youth must thumb the dry air,
the fishnets,
and for some seek clogged cities.
they who fathers and mothers
rode the sacred groves,
wandered the Oregon valleys,
crossed the fertile lands,
and the craggy Steens and Wallowas.

today the vast land hosts big houses,
timber yards, glass factories,
cowherds, industrial stacks,
paved roads, restaurants,
and five-star hotels.
rivers host jetboats.
ski lodges offer up hot toddies.

Earth forgets with ease.
auctions off sorrow for so little.
these first peoples sing, know the blood sorrow
with their knuckles and fists.
they drum with with old heart and wide eyes.
weave their sacred robes.
create feathered headdresses.
find the summit snow
and sheets of blue sky where they were born.
they hear the voices of their long gone elders,
like sunflowers, like tree roots,
like gusty wind, like angels.
the vast lands have forgotten them,
though they not the land.

The Courtyard Dancer And Her Blanket



her exceptional beauty,
her voice, the way her whole body spoke,
lit her lovely face.
she pitched the cloth back and forth.
with each sway her dark tropical eyes
aimed straight for us.
when she leaped a sweet vapor rose.
each inhale made a statement.
warmed our blood.
dappled with our desires.

her hungry bare lips had
an unreckonable reach.
they swayed, leaned, twitched.
her long leaps embraced our wits.
teased. converged upon our dreams.
she came toward us with a loud cry
then snapped the blanket back and forth.
made mountains out of our hearts.
I could see a pearl necklace,
a moonlight diamond,
a dancing queen,
her graceful fingers stroking.
at times she'd pause. stare.
kiss the blanket.
she was on her victory ship.

she drew her splash
from the orange pinches,
the fiery reds and earthly greens
weaved into the rich knit stitching.
"my angelic threads," she says.
"from the tears of the good earth." 

we were left galvanized.
later, when folding
the corners she looked up
and whispered:
“grandma, did you see?
we did it. didn't we?"