Columbus Day
1492
Columbus did not discover us.
We were not Taino, Arawak or Carib--
We were not islanders.
We had nothing that he wanted—
Nothing anyone wanted, not at first.
1692
We lived secure behind our mountains
Here in the cold and rocky north,
Until the farmers wanted our land
And the traders wanted our furs
And the slavers wanted our bodies
And the missionaries wanted our souls.
Columbus was long dead by then.
2002
And now each fall I hear
The hungry voices, endlessly hungry--
“share your culture with us
we want to know you.
Sing and dance for us
Smile for the camera, Indian girl
Look pretty
Wear your feathers, now, and your moccasins.
Tell us a story. Your people are famous for stories.
we want your music
and your stories
and your life
and your spirit.
We want—
We want—
We’ll even pay you.”
Columbus did not discover us.
You did.
Storm Stray
She cried against the door
One cold November day
Gray furred and thin as clouds
In that storm sky
Her eyes looked into mine
as if to say
“I used to live with others of your kind.
They left me here
Without a word they left me here behind
And went away.
I do not know you, no, but you smell kind,
And I’m so cold.
I’m asking, soul-to-soul, and mind-to-mind,
To let me stay.”
A queen in tatters, but so royal still
So with a dignity no storm could kill.
What could I do? I braced against the wind,
Opened the kitchen door, and let her in.
Memorial Day for 30 years
He was just someone I knew
Someone I’d always known
And the bright-colored college crowd
Surged around us, but left us alone
In a rain spattered college café
Some-when, a long lifetime ago.
We drank coffee and talked of the war
While around us the rain was slow.
They told me he died in that war,
In the soft-falling tropical rain,
They said he was saving the world--
But all that was left was the pain.
Now his name is a name on a wall,
A black wall in a city of stone.
That is all that remains of a life
Of a person, a joy that was known.
His soul dances the warriors’ dance
At the gathering-place in the stars
With Crazy Horse, Gall and the rest
Of the souls of the dead of lost wars.
I cannot remember his face.
I barely remember his name.
It was such a long lifetime ago,
But sometimes, in the dark and the rain,
I still hear his voice in the night
I still see his star in the sky
Then the grief comes again—raw, unhealed—
As I mourn for the dead who can’t die.
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