For the Mud Gatherers
We are grandchildren of Oneida warriors and peacekeepers. Descendants of Skywoman falling. We dove through darkness and brought back the mud to dance upon. We protect this land with our words and our doings. As they bury us here, tobacco grows in the direction of our together mind. In Spring, children split the medicine plant open to write poetry with green ink.
If a Poem Should Land
If a poem should land on your shoulder
and whisper in your ear of corn
and for a moment you are a scarecrow
Then so be it
Hold your branches steady for the crows to
Rest their wings and sing their notes
And should the poem be about bright birds
That lift you up from where you stand
Then let yourself float
Until your mind moves like a cloud
And you think as the sky thinks
And if the poem you hear is a mountain face
Or forgotten village or the yawn of a great cat
Then pick it up by its scruff
And purr first so it knows who you are
If a Poem Should Land
If a poem should land on your shoulder
and whisper in your ear of corn
and for a moment you are a scarecrow
Then so be it
Hold your branches steady for the crows to
Rest their wings and sing their notes
And should the poem be about bright birds
That lifts you up from where you stand
Then let yourself float
Until your mind moves like a cloud
And you think as the sky thinks
And if the poem you hear is a mountain face
Or forgotten village or the yawn of a great cat
Then pick it up by its scruff
And purr first so it knows who you are