POSSESSIONS
I am making a song
to sing to myself.
It is about my possessions.
I have a woven hair tie.
I have a woven belt.
My mother made them for me.
My mother gave them to me.
They are my possessions.
I have silver rings on my fingers.
I have silver bracelets on my arms.
My father made them for me.
My father gave them to me.
They are my possessions.
Soft things
and hard things
I have for my possessions.
A song,
a song,
I am singing a song about them.
STORM
A storm wind comes to stop my song.
It comes through the trees
with the strength of anger.
It sways me forward.
It sways me backward.
It turns me when I am walking.
Black clouds gather
to blanket the thunder.
Zig-zag lightning
cuts the clouds in two.
My sheep crowd near me.
With soft words I speak to them.
I tell them
not to be afraid
for I am here.
LIGHTNING
Lightning darts
like an arrow,
an arrow of fire,
from an unseen bow.
It darts in flame
from the gray sky
to the gray earth.
It strikes a tree.
Lightning strikes a tree.
My sheep,
my sheep,
I must save my sheep
from this evil around them.
I must save them,
my sheep,
my poor frightened sheep.
FIRE
Fire runs up the tall tree trunk
and into the branches.
The tree is on fire.
The tree is aflame.
It blazes.
It crackles.
It burns.
The sheep look to me to protect them.
My poor frightened sheep,
I do not know which way
to take them.
RAIN
But wait!
The sky is opening.
Rain comes through.
Male rain comes through,
comes down in sheets of water,
pours down in sheets of water
drenching the flames
of the burning tree.
My mother comes running
between the trees.
She is frightened for the sheep
and for me.
I tell her
all things are good.
Lightning did not touch the sheep.
Male rain saved the trees from fire.
Male rain saved us from forest fire.
Now male rain has gone
down into the valley.
Female rain follows
with soft footsteps.
Flowers turn upward
Leaves turn upward
lifting their hands
to catch the gentle rain.
It is good.
The rain is good.
I open my hands
to catch the gentle rain.
EVENING
Sun-Bearer parts the clouds
and looks down on the rain.
He turns each raindrop
into a silver bead.
He turns each rainstreak
into a silver necklace.
He makes a rainbow path
for the gods
across the sky.
I go among the sheep,
the huddled, wet sheep.
I sing to them.
I sing to the sheep,
a song, a song,
a song about my possessions,
my ceremonial goods.
I have a little buckskin bag
filled with things,
with things.
My grandfather filled it for me.
My grandfather gave it to me.
Wherever I go
I carry my little buckskin bag
to keep me safe,
to keep my feet
on the Trail of Beauty.
A song,
a song,
I am singing a song
to my sheep.
Just now on the home trail,
a young deer,
a beautiful young deer,
stood in the bushes
and looked at me.
His eyes were big and dark
and full of questions.
A song,
a song,
I am singing a song
on the home trail.
I have a necklace of
turquoise and coral.
I have a necklace of
white shell and coral.
My grandmother traded for them.
My grandmother gave them to me.
They are possessions.
I have turquoise in my ears,
silver bells on my belt fringe.
My uncle made them for me.
My uncle gave them to me.
They are my possessions.
A song,
a song,
I am singing a song
to my sheep.
My father has five kinds
of possessions.
He has hard goods
and soft goods,
ceremonial goods
and land
and game.
But I am little.
I do not have five kinds.
I have three.
I made a song about them
to sing the sheep home.
At last we reach the home camp.
The sheep are safe in their corral.
I am safe with my mother.
Summer shade is at my back.
In front of me is my mother's fire.
I am dry and warm.
Good food is cooking.
My mother sings,
and all around me
there is beauty.
SUPPER
My father and my uncle
ride up from the Trading Post,
the Red Rock Trading Post
down near the winter hogan.
Long before I heard them
I could feel them coming.
Long before I saw them
I could hear them singing.
Now they ride into the firelight,
my father and my uncle.
My father brought salt
and baking powder
and lard
for my mother
from the Trading Post.
He brought candy
for me.
My father brought news,
much news.
Things he had seen,
things that were told to him
at the Trading Post.
He brought them back
for us to hear.
Then we washed our hands.
We sat away from the fire.
My mother placed the evening food
before us.
When we had eaten
my father gave thanks
to the Holy Ones.
We washed our hands again.
My uncle put new wood upon the fire.
Then the best part of the day began.
My father and my uncle talked.
TALKING
My father said
in ten days
would be the time
for dipping the sheep.
He and my uncle
would help my mother and me
drive the sheep to the dipping.
Sheep must be dipped
in medicine-water.
There is no pollen.
There is no Holy Song.
There is no Trail of Beauty
in this medicine water.
But my father says
it is good for the sheep.
Sheep get lice
hidden in their thick wool.
Lice make the sheep unhappy.
Lice make the sheep bite their wool.
Lice are bad for sheep.
Dipping the sheep
in medicine-water
kills the lice.
Ticks are bad for sheep.
Ticks live
on the sheep's good blood.
Ticks make the sheep thin
and weak.
If the sheep are robbed
of their good blood
they cannot stand
the cold of winter.
They cannot stand
the heat of summer.
They sicken.
Their wool is not good.
Dipping the sheep
in medicine-water
kills the lice and the ticks.
It is good for the sheep.
My mother does not like dipping
because she does not understand
why the sheep are dipped.
But my father talks to her.
He tells her about lice and ticks.
He tells her too
that she is quickest and best
of all the women
at dipping her sheep
in the medicine-water.
SHEEP DIPPING
All the people
with their sheep and goats
and horses and wagons
and children and dogs
go to the dipping.
There is much dust and work
and singing and eating
at dipping time.
I like it.
Sheep do not like dipping.
They do not like to take a bath
in the medicine-water
even though it is good for them.
When grandfather goat gets dipped
he is angry, very angry.
He does not like
to get his whiskers wet.
Tomorrow, first thing,
I will tell old goat, old goat,
that in ten days
Washington will
wash his whiskers.
My father talks of other things
besides the dipping.
His voice goes on and on
like wind in trees,
like water running,
like soft rain falling,
like drum beats pounding,
talk,
talk,
talking.
BEDTIME
After a time
my mother and I
unroll our blankets.
We go to bed
beneath the cottonwood shade.
I have my own prayer
to the night.
I whisper it,
whisper it,
but only the night wind hears.
The horses move
within the shadows.
My father sings.
It is night.
The sheep move
within the circle of branches.
My mother sleeps.
It is night.
THE STAR SONG
Softly my father sings
the Star Song
to the stars and me.
"When the world was being made,
being made,
when the gods were
placing stars,
the stars,
the stars in patterns
in the sky,
coyote stole the star bag,
coyote spilled the stars out
in the sky,
helter skelter in the sky,
when the world
was being made."
Softly my father sings it,
the Star Song,
to the stars and me.
Darkness covers me.
Beauty covers me.
My mother is near.
My father is near.
The sheep are safe.
The words of the Holy Song
come to me,
"On top of the mountain
I found the gods."
It is night.
It is night.
Happiness comes to me.
I sleep.