Turtle
came to me first
the earth
the crone
steady, slow, unperturbed
always shielded
Hawk
came to me second
when my need was great
the sky
my brother
my guide
the watcher
the shaman
Goose
has always been with me
my heart goes where the wild goose goes
the wind
the wanderer
and I must go where the wild goose goes
But who is the writer?
I wait for the answer that has
always
rested in me.
Great Spirit is the writer.
I can’t do this then. I cannot represent Great Spirit.
Great Spirit is in you and is already represented.
and in the drum, the song, the dance
and in the word
and
is
already represented
in all that you are
or not
and all that you do
or don’t
in all that you see
or don’t
in all that you hear
or don’t
in all that you feel
or
are you sensing a trend here?
But, about the drum?
Do whatever you want.
You will anyway.
I find this amusing … especially the last two lines. I trust you will find just the right imagery for your drum.
I’m surprised you haven’t written something on the loss of little children. I’m wondering if that is what my melancholia is about or if it is something else.
I love your poetry. You do such a nice job of expressing yourself.
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Lissa. You are always so supportive. I haven’t been able to write about the children yet. It’s too raw. I’m not sure I ever can in a way that makes any sense, since it doesn’t make any sense. All those bright little faces. I thought I had seen some horrible stuff in my life – but this is horrible in a way I could never have imagined.