bits of fluff
They came here in darkness to darken the light.
They gathered us up, not to fight –
but to die.
Generations go by in the blink of an eye.
Hatred was planted, and grows –
cruelly ingrained now in our wounded souls.
Invading strangers don’t want to know us
They never wanted to know our ways,
and still do not want to know.
Some say we no longer exist – others say we never existed.
“We annihilated them way back when,” they say.
We are no more than ghosts of a forgotten past.
I am here.
Brown skin kissed by the Sun.
Eyes the color of chocolate, gleaming with tears
like the Stars of the night.
Raven hair blowing in the wind.
I am still here.
In this…thus…the dream…where I dwell…wherein I dwell...flows the lifeblood of the earth…and
do you know my fingertips slow the cold stream water
to the muddy silt of the valley?....
through my fingers, through the fingers
and into veins...Like reeds as high
as the dragonflies dart...water runs through
rising from deep in the heart.
The water flows where Spirit reigns, where spirit rains....
And my love whispers:
My spirit is not found in the sky,
up in the sky, it does not fall from that God
up in the sky
but rather in an enduring cycle, in an endearing cycle—
it brings life... carries our origin stories
over the land...traditions ebbing and flowing
in the seasons like sacred salmon…buffalo herds…and deer.
I exist … we must have existed, and will
exist well...If I endure
the falling rain...If I embrace
the flowing rain…in the darkness of silent light.
( I remember)
the taste of water flowing to my lips. From the ripples... and fingertips...as I
cry, at the depth and death of the day...
Water's Spirit calls to me in my dreams and...
I spill over into the stream, clear down to the
remains of the land, down to the fecund silt
where once seeds fell, where now seeds flow,
where reeds sing to the drumming rainfall, running down
in rivulets, falling down my body …in this,
this the dream of my birth...the birth OF
Mni Wiconi....my love.
~ Sheri Watson
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