Monday, January 30, 2017

The Indigenous Tree


There was a sacred day
when I found your tree—
I wish I did not have to dig up the roots
of colonization and then bury
them again. Now there are
many voices, sons of thunder,
wives of rain.

Will you walk healed, my children
of song? Grandchildren of chant,
the drumming keeps on—
will the Great Spirit answer?
He is like a gourd,
lighting our path
through the night.

Desire,
there is no over-consumption
of resources without
the corruption of those in power:

and we thought they were all that way.