Snakes in the Outhouse |
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Crossing a week's growth of cool grass, barefoot, lacing sleek tender blades to a slanting, fading outhouse for duty to God and Country; Jerking a wedged, plank-boarded door to meet the sharp edged acid stench of dietary waste and more; my feet massage the soft worn floor. Rasping spring squeaks, wedging the door, narrowing the path of sunlight and the eyes must adjust to less before one spits into the pit. __________________________________ I look into the hole and behold slender movement, not far below, of a hundred gray hissing snakes, their hideous heads lifted high. "Snakes in the outhouse!" I cry out to myself in a muffled shout. Sun rushes in, rasping spring squeaks, I run over the lush green grass. Here in the land of the living, on meadows of sleeping shadows, hallowed voices long forgotten call to me. |
Shades of those set upon this land, through the voice of my uncle speak, of this terrain before the rain, isolation and ghastly shame. Treaty for a wagon's width path with those the First Nation did meet made in good faith, but with much haste sent them packing and on their way. Thriving the heap of human waste, wisdom frosted of snakes now lost counsel shadows, whom until late, were buried 'neath a blinding hate. ____________________________________ Waves of greed dressed in silk thread hats, their mustaches twisted in wax, paid two bits and claimed the green land which turned to sand and blew away. Their great-grandchildren sat in bars, -- peeling fibers cover the walls -- clutched yellowed deeds of faded days, dare recall names long since buried. Dreams and town, forgotten with a frown, and old toiled farms raising dark tailored by the "C's" became a park planting trees over the shadows. |
Crossing meadow into the wood a flood of voices heard today, their fizbees, grills and picnic goods, the heap of human waste this day. Assimilate and relocate, but late, the shadows of warriors, 'thriving the heaps of human waste, bless the old ward, the moistening ground. The Spirits thought lost still remain their domain is fixed forever. They walk the way of salvation; shun not their talk or their way. ______________________________ 
↑ Swallowed by a snake |
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Page 52, Hawk Dancer (2nd Edition, 2011)
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