IN SPRING
IN SPRING
| Page | |
|---|---|
| Morning | 73 |
| The Hogan | 74 |
| Breakfast | 75 |
| Possessions | 76 |
| Sheep Corral | 78 |
| The Puppy | 79 |
| The Waterhole | 80 |
| The Field | 81 |
| Little Lambs | 82 |
| Herding | 83 |
| Little Bells | 85 |
| Lambs In the Snow | 86 |
| The Wind | 88 |
| Noon | 90 |
| Thinking | 91 |
| Old Grandfather Goat | 92 |
| Baby Goats | 93 |
| Afternoon | 94 |
| Sunset | 95 |
| Greedy Goat | 96 |
| Beautiful Mountain | 97 |
| Meetings | 98 |
| Going Home | 100 |
| Night | 101 |
MORNING
This morning,
when I crawled
from under my blanket,
when I stood
before my mother's hogan door,
outside looked
as if it had been crying.
The sky was hanging heavy
with gray tears.
I stood at the door
of my mother's hogan
and looked out
at the gray, sad morning.
My father came.
He stood beside us.
He spoke
in a happy way
to me
and to my mother.
Then the gray tears
on the sky's face
melted.
The clouds pushed away
and the sun
smiled through them.
Now it is gray again,
but I cannot forget
that when my father spoke
the sun came
and looked down
upon us.
THE HOGAN
My mother's hogan is dry
against the gray mists
of morning.
My mother's hogan is warm
against the gray cold
of morning.
I sit in the middle
of its rounded walls,
walls that my father built
of juniper and good earth.
Walls that my father blessed
with song and corn pollen.
Here in the middle
of my mother's hogan
I sit
because I am happy.
BREAKFAST
On the fire
in the middle of her hogan
my mother cooks food.
My mother
makes fried bread
and coffee,
and she cooks mutton ribs
over the coals.
My father
and I
and my mother,
we sit on the floor
together,
and we eat
the good food
that my mother
has cooked for us.
POSSESSIONS
We have many things.
My mother
has many sheep
and goats
and her hogan
and the things
of the hogan
and me.
My father
has many horses.
On his land
he has many horses.
He has a wagon
near the horse corral.
Inside my mother's hogan
my father keeps his gun,
and outside
he hangs his sheepskin
and his saddle
and his blanket.
And I
have my mother
and my father,
three baby lambs
and a cat
with a long tail.
I have a tree
that I know.
It is a little tree.
It is a crooked tree
on the top of a hill.
It knows me, too,
I think,
because it bends down low
to let me climb it
to hide away.
Behind my mother's hogan
is Beautiful Mountain.
It is mine,
I know,
because always
it is looking at me
to make me happy.
We have many things.
All of us
have many things.
One day
my father told me
that all The People
had possessions.
He said,
"Sheep and horses
for the men and the women
and land for all.
That is enough."
My father said this.
But I think
there should be more
than sheep and horses
and land for all.
There should be little girls
for little girls to play with.
That would be enough,
I think.
SHEEP CORRAL
Near my mother's hogan
is the sheep corral,
a hard packed place
fenced with poles.
There is a tree
for shade.
There is a shelter
for lambs
in the sheep corral.
The sheep stand together
in their corral.
They stand close
to each other.
I think
sheep like to know
that they are many.
Sometimes
I think that way.
I think
that there are many children
all around me,
all about me.
When I am herding
and I cannot see my mother,
it is good
to play
that many children
stand together with me,
and that all outside
is my corral.
THE PUPPY
Far from the hogan
in a dry sand wash
I found the gray dog
and a new baby puppy
gray with black spots.
Poor little puppy,
it crawled to me
crying.
Thin little baby,
its pink cold nose
found my hand.
Soft baby puppy,
it was so little
it made me feel gentle
and strong
like my mother.
When I picked it up,
the gray mother dog
did not growl.
She was glad for me
to want her puppy.
She thumped her tail.
Listen,
you gray pup with black spots,
I will teach you
to watch the sheep
so that always
there will be a place for you
in our hogan.
THE WATERHOLE
The waterhole hides away
behind the red rocks,
but my sheep
know where to find it.
Their little feet
have made a deep trail
from the corral
to the waterhole.
THE FIELD
In a little delta
of seepage water
near the waterhole
is a small place
that my father has fenced
to make a home
for the corn,
for the squash
and the melons.
It is too cold now,
but soon,
when the snow melts
and hides away in the warm sand,
my father will go to his field.
There he will make
the soil ready for planting.
He will break through
the hard crust of winter
and turn up toward the sun
little lumps of fresh earth.
I like to go with my father
to his field
because
I like the feel and the smell
of new earth
when it first sees the sun.
I want my father to take me
with him
when he goes to plant the corn
because
I forget
how he does it.
LITTLE LAMBS
The little lambs are born.
Near the waterhole
my mother makes shelters
of green boughs
for the mother sheep.
There
in the shelters
the little lambs are born.
The green boughs
stand close together,
they do not let the snow
nor the wind
nor the sand
come in
to hurt the lambs.
Soon the lambs
will be big enough
to play with me.
HERDING
All day I herd
my mother's sheep.
The sheep and I,
we have a way of going
that is always the same.
From the corral we go
to the waterhole
and through the arroyo
to the sagebrush
then back again.
Outside is round
like the sheep corral.
Outside is round
like my mother's hogan,
but it is bigger.
Outside is big,
big,
so big.
Sometimes
when I am alone
with my mother's sheep,
I am afraid.
I cannot say
with words
the things
that make me afraid
because I do not know
what they are.
But sometimes
outside is so still
and big
and empty
and I am so little.
The red rocks
are so high
and Beautiful Mountain
behind my mother's hogan
seems far away.
Nothing walks with me,
but the sheep,
just the sheep,
and I am so little
walking along
in the big outside.
I am so little,
I am afraid.
And then
near by
I see my mother
at her hogan door.
The red rocks
seem to bend down
to look at me
in a good way
and Beautiful Mountain
comes closer.
All things are good again
because
my mother is near me.
I am not afraid.
Today is cold.
There is wind
and snow
and sand
and always wind.
I take the sheep
to the waterhole
and the wind goes with us.
LITTLE BELLS
I have little bells
on my belt fringe.
Little bells,
silver bells,
hanging on my belt fringe.
My mother has a tin can
filled with stones.
She rattles it
to tell the sheep
to hurry.
But I have little bells
tied to my belt fringe.
When I run
the little bells laugh
and say to the sheep,
"Hurry,
hurry."
LAMBS IN THE SNOW
Today
the cold comes
in gray clouds
of blowing snow.
The little lambs
stand close to their mothers.
They think
the cold has come to stay.
Yesterday the sky was blue
and the sun warmed the land.
The lambs do not know
that sometimes
cold days make mistakes
and come again
after they should have gone away.
They do not know
that tomorrow will be warm again.
They have not been here
long enough
to know these things
and their mothers
have not told them.
My mother
is watching the lambs.
She will not let them
get too cold.
My father says,
"Next year
I will try the white-man's way
of breeding the sheep.
Then the lambs
will be born later,
when summer has come to stay."
My mother says, "Yes,
next year
we will try that way."
THE WIND
There are many things
about the wind
that I do not know.
I have not seen the wind,
and no one has told me
where the wind lives,
or where it is going
when I hear it
and when I feel it
rushing by.
And something more
I do not know about the wind.
I do not know if it is angry
or if it is playing
and just doing the things it does
for fun.
Sometimes
the wind gathers the sand
into whirlwinds
and makes them dance
over the flat lands
until they are tired
and lie down
to get their breath.
Sometimes
the wind bends the wild grass
down to the ground,
and makes the sagebrush
bow its head
as if a giant moccasin
had stepped on them
in passing.
Today the wind makes the
tumbleweeds
look like sheep
jumping off high banks
and racing up arroyos
with no dog to guard them,
with no herder to guide them.
Poor tumbleweeds are frightened
because
they do not know where to go.
I want someone to tell me
if the wind is angry
or if it is playing with me
and racing with me
and my many skirts
across the sand.
When the wind blows
my long skirts,
my many skirts
are in a hurry
to get to the hogan
where the wind
cannot push them.
They pull me along
when I am walking
and my feet
have a hard time
to keep up
with my skirts.
NOON
Now it is middle-time of day.
The sheep stand still.
The shadows sit under the trees.
Everything is resting,
the sun
and the sheep
and the shadows.
I, too, rest.
And I look at Beautiful Mountain
behind my mother's hogan.
I am thinking about something.
THINKING
Earth,
they are saying
that you are tired.
They are saying
that for too long
you have given life
to the sheep
and The People.
I am only little.
I cannot do big things,
but I can do this for you.
I can take my sheep
to new pastures.
I can take them
the long way
around the arroyos,
not through them,
when we go to the waterhole.
This way
their little feet,
their sharp pointed feet,
will not make the cuts
across your face
grow deeper.
This way
the worn pastures
can sleep a little
and grow new grass again.
I can do this
to heal your cuts,
to make you
not so tired.
Earth, my mother,
do you understand?
OLD GRANDFATHER GOAT
Grandfather Goat
stands on the hilltop,
shaking his whiskers,
chewing something
and looking wise.
Sometimes
when I ask him things
he looks at me
as if he knew.
Perhaps he does.
BABY GOATS
Baby goats
always are playing,
climbing up
and jumping down.
This small one
always stands
on the top of the storehouse.
He knows
there are things to eat inside,
I think.
AFTERNOON
Afternoon is long.
The sun goes slowly
across the sky.
The sheep walk slowly,
feeding.
I see them against the sky
in a long, slow line.
I whisper to the wind
to blow the sun
and the sheep
a little
to make them hurry.
But it blows
only the clouds
and the sand
and me.
SUNSET
Just now
I watched the sun going.
It took a long time
to say goodbye.
I think it knew
that the land
and the things
of the land
were sorry
it had to go.
It said goodbye
in such a good way.
Just for a little time
it made the sky
and the rocks
and the sand
like itself
to let them know
how it feels
to be sun.
Then it went away
and all things
were still
because the sun had gone.
GREEDY GOAT
The sheep know
that the day is over,
but Grandfather Goat
stays behind
to push his whiskers
high up in a tree
for one last bite.
Old Greedy
Grandfather Goat.
BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN
Beautiful Mountain
looks so blue
and so cold
and so lonely
now that the sun
and the sheep
and I
are going.
If it were nearer to me
and small,
I could bring it
into my mother's hogan
under my blanket.
Then I need not leave
Beautiful Mountain
out there by itself
in the night.
MEETINGS
For a long time
there have been meetings
of many men
for many days.
At the meetings
there is talking,
talking,
talking.
Some this way.
Some that way.
In the morning
when my father
leaves for meeting
he says to us,
"When I come here again
then I will know
if it is best
to have many sheep
or few sheep,
to use the land
or let it sleep."
But
when my father
comes home from meeting
he does not know
which talking-way to follow.
Tonight
when my father
came home from meeting
he just sat, looking
and looking.
My mother gave him coffee
and bread and mutton,
but my father just sat,
looking.
Then my mother
spoke to me.
She said,
"A meeting is like rain.
When there is little talk,
now and then,
here and there,
it is good.
It makes thoughts grow
as little rains make corn grow.
But big talk, too much,
is like a flood
taking things of long standing
before it."
My mother
said this to me,
but I think
she wanted my father
to hear it.
GOING HOME
After the sun has gone,
my mother's sheep
and I,
we walk together, slowly,
to my mother's hogan
and the corral.
Most all the day
my mother
from her hogan door
has watched me
and the sheep
to see
that no harm came to us.
And now
my mother comes to meet us.
She comes to welcome us
as if we had been gone
a long way,
a long time.
Sometimes
my father's singing
comes to meet us
across the sandwash.
It comes to meet us
to sing us home.
Sometimes,
the smoke
from the supper fire
comes to meet us
across the dark blue
of the night sky.
For me the hogan is waiting
and the corral
waits for the sheep.
NIGHT
Night is outside
in his black blanket.
I hear him
talking with the wind.
I do not know him.
He is outside.
I am here
in my mother's hogan
warm in my sheepskin
close to my mother.
The things I know
are around me
like a blanket,
keeping me safe
from those things
which are strange.
Keeping me safe.