Sunday, August 28, 2011

My Father's People

My Father's People

My father’s people walked here,
amidst the blue ridges and crystal waters;
slept here, loved here, long before.

Their whispers reached through the distance,
wound their way through the smog,
along the smoldering cement,
over steel and glass to wrap gently
‘round my heart.

Tone tightened, softened only when heeded—
heeded that voice of freedom, the voice of earth —
constricted and chattered when I forgot.
Call of my father’s people, my people,
guiding me home.
Home to the rivers, home to the mountains
home to my brother trees.
I sit amongst then now and can almost hear clearly.

I am here with hi-da-da-tse-li who labor
lovingly to remove the world, and flood with life.
My father’s people, my people, I walk here
amongst the blue ridges and crystal waters.


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