The Earth Forgets


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they buried their elders by firs and pines
but the good earth has sucked back their bones,
washed the soil clean.
they, who sang sacred songs,
who swore they came from the summer sky
and the umbilical cord of the Earth.

today they drum. dance.
shake their feathered headdresses
in mystic honor.
they laugh, cry, speak in their ceremonial teepees.
they have not forgotten the wolf.
nor the coyote's eyes when he trots the land.
in the woodlands, they see the blood beatings,
old gardens, lakeshore villages
and nets filled with wiggling fish.
and their fathers and mothers
who rode the sacred groves,
wandered the Oregon valleys,
crossed the fertile lands,
and the craggy Steens and Wallowas.

today the vast land holds ranches,
timber yards, glass factories,
fenced fields, industrial stacks,
ports, docks, 24-7 restaurants,
and five-star hotels. rivers run jetboats.
ski lodges offer up hot toddies.

Earth forgets with ease.
auctions off sorrow for so little.
these first people hear the voices
of their long gone elders.
they worship the ancient rocks
dressed with watchful eyes.
the glorious flashes of moonlight
and the swift wind.
they hear voices that affirm
they are still a nation,
a fury, a gathering wind
that sings from the river deep.
they are part of the bays, soil,
the petals of life.
they speak with gentle promise
and with soulful thirst.
they carry a brave face wherever they go.
the vast lands have forgotten them,
though they not the land.