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First People :: American Indian Poems and Prayers

Rosette Necklaces.

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Scaffolding

One sky.
Two skies
Three skies.
More skies in the eagle eyes
immersed in the most darkest waters,
now seventeen skies build up a sense of feverish history
that complicates our notions of time and space,
Long Walk from Fort Defiance,
I am a drawing board for the world,
these human hands with this arrangement beckoning
with awful smiles freezing me,
I am alone here
though I taste your milk
and vegetables and cooked food,
I am going to the bar for green tea
because I am finished in beauty
in different directions,
because I am a black hawk
coming to the front
in the blizzard.
I have met your otherside
among the people
who wear lifeless bodies,
I wait for you to complete weaving the basket
when you are still sitting in the darkness.
Es ist eins Uhr. Es ist morgens.
Geben Sie mir bitte eine Spritze,
when I am still digging for the sun in your eyes,
where cactus stand tall in the way,
I am black hawk
physically engaged
in some old brushes and Indian ink
to define who we are
as ubiquitous,
I see bones in parallel as mathematics,
I am grasshopper that is restored,
I am the silent tree sitting with night that is restored,
I walk the space to Turtle Mountains,
I wander with skies
from the base of the east,
from the base of mirage,
from the base of rainbow,
to my fireside,
I am sturdy legs with sharp, powerful talons,
I am a whining sound as the air rushes through its widespread pinions,
I am black hawk,
soaring, soaring skyward
I respond to the unceasing molecular motions of the air particles,
I am the man restored,
I am the woman restored,
I am the husband restored,
I am the wife restored,
I am the children restored
with the misty rain,
I am the last to come,
I am called among the birds,
the Sioux woman passing by carries her wounded man.
I am the one,
I am the wounded husband,
I am the wounded knee,
I will greet you with a kiss.
Truly
I will greet you with a kiss.
Call me any Chippewa
to the dance,
I am returning home
after a long walk between my hands,
let Yellow Bird, Dog Chief, Hit Shoulder,
Left Eye, Horn Skin, Big Foot, One Above,
ride away faster toward Pine Ridge,
where we must sit for dinner.
My name is Sitting Mountain,
I am sprouting from the space
above Wounded Knee Creek,
I am sitting
with our fractal geometry
in your eyes,
let me understand
where we are
and where we are going
when I am an ant of all the animals going elsewhere,
I am the rainy bubble,
a form to a fingertip,
I am the dark clouds clothed in bird feathers
going to a field
restored with sheep and horses,
I am everything here.
I will greet you with a kiss
Truly
I will greet you with a kiss,
the Navajo, the saw, the Ojibwe, the saw,
I have seen you with my key around my neck,
with the sky,
with the sky,
I will greet you with a kiss
because
I am black hawk
I am black hawk
black hawk
black hawk
black haw.
Bitte wecken Sie mich um Wounded Knee Creek.
Es ist zu dunkel.
I am black hawk
black hawk
black hawk
black hawk

© Sitting Mountain

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