When Winter Come (2 page)

Nez Perce for “she who returned from a far-away country”

Yemaya

Orisa of the sea and maternal love

To hear hero makers tell it

wasn't nobody

on the great expedition but captains.

An them always mentions Seaman

Capt. Lewis's dog

before them remembers me.

Beneath the captains was three sergeants

though something evil got in the bowels

a Sgt. Floyd an took his life, barely a year

after joining up. I was sorry to see him pass.

Among almost two dozen privates

was a sharp young boy no more than eighteen

a couple a blacksmiths

an several Virginy an Kentucke mens

that knowed they way 'round furs an skins.

We had us a couple a Frenchmans

born an raised as Indians.

Most a them could shoot straight an some

was pretty good hunters, though none

could best me.

An though alla the books praise the captains

the most valuable members a the party

was even lower than privates, but be

the ones that saved all our lives

more than a time or two.

The real heroes be old cowardly Charbono's young squaw

an Drewyer, another man full a both French

an Indian blood.

They was the best at talking with they hands

bargaining with the Indians along the way

an quieting the killer we sometime seen in they eyes.

Sacagawea was best at finding roots to eat when we

was near starving an one a the ones to steer us right

when we was lost.

An then, there was me, just along to cook an carry,

to hear them tell it, but there be two sides to ev'ry story

an then there be the truth.

This story be born a my own spit an memory

it be the only thing I own outright

an I gives it to you freely.

You will be at ease only in your own home.

—African proverb

After I visits villages a families

in charge a themselves

meets barefoot warriors an chiefs

listens to wisdom a storytellers

an medicine men, an see people

married to the earth

fishing the rivers an living off the land

dancing an singing in circles

wearing animal masks

caressing voices

out a skin-headed drums an rattles

honoring them ancestors

an them toothless at the beginning

an at the end a life

I wonder if all the stories Ol' York told

on the porch, was really 'bout

ol' Africa

or just a conjurer's way a planting seeds

so his son recognize home

when he see it.

Ol' York say Mandingo, Ibo, Dogon

Akan, Yoruba, an more be chained together

in the bottom a boats

an brought to this land

He say one a the tricks used

to make a man a slave

an kill his language

be to take away the name

he call hisself

When I listens to the Sioux, the Hidatsa

Arikara, Mandan, Shoshone, Salish,

Chinook, an even the Nez Perce

all be called savage

Indian, red man, or chil'ren

by the captains

I wonders how long it take before

they answers to niggah too.

Some answers come so easy

the questions be barely worth asking.

Some things root in the back

ova man's head,

wrestle him in the dark

an follow him 'round

for the rest a his life:

Why I never run to freedom?

How my heart make room

for two women?

When I come to know God?

An what did I pretends not to know

'bout the men an the facts

a the great expedition?

I've studied on these same questions

for many a year, struggled with some

a the answers, an eventually come to terms

with all they truths

no matter who ear them sting.

Them call the old guide that led us

through the mountains,
Toby,

Sacagawea,
Janey,

her lil' Jean Baptiste,
Pomp,

an me
boy
, an worse if it cross they minds.

Them call the beautiful Nimiipuu

Nez Perce though we never seen a pierced nose

in the mountains or plains.

Them give a name to ev'ry stream an place

we come 'cross

even named a group a small islands after me

without ever thinking to ask the people

who lived there if they already had names.

What is it, I wonder

gets in a white man's head so

that when him look in the mirror

him always see God

but when him look at people

with hair like lambs wool

or feet a burnt brass

him see only devils or chil'ren.

Whoever sees the snake and does not flee, plays with
death.

—Yoruba Proverb

She turn right then left then right again

some time circling 'round to almost where we begin.

She make us dodge sharp trees an rocks

underwater logs an moving sand bottoms.

We pushes an pulls the keelboats an big canoes

the whole day long just to travel a distance

a man can cover on foot in a few minutes.

She put me in mind ova long mean snake

that swallow a pack a field mouses.

An while we trys to find our way out her stomach

she swallow sticks an rocks an enough cold water

to keep us in her belly long enough for us to pass.

My captain an the men laughs at my fear

a the river an my singing her apologies

an prayers at night an while we works

but I know she alive an I know she do all

she can to break our spirits an make the party

change they minds an give up the expedition.

But she don't know that a company

a rugged men who take well to orders

is as fearless an hard-headed as she is long an deep.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

—
Langston Hughes

call me the ohio, the mississippi, or the missoura

   call me wood, teton, yellowstone, milk, judith, marias,

     jefferson, madison, beaverhead, bitterroot, snake,

       clearwater, or pallouse

         call me the wide-toothed mouth of the columbia river

           call me after my many creeks

             my great falls

               my hot springs

                 i am the snow atop mt. adams

                   i am the salty hope in the air

                     at cape disappointment

                   i am she who is the deep and the shallows

                 a thundering waterfall and a quiet storm

             i am always present in the air, on every tongue

          in every drop of milk and blood and tear

       you will find me in every thorn and flower    seed and fruit

     there is no life without me

 i am libation and baptismal pool

   i am your sprinkle of holy water

     i am older than man and light

       i am of god not god

         but like god, i am also inside of every man

           for all are born in me and form there until

             they are flushed naked into the world

           and i remain there in them like god

         until they depart and return to dust

        captain clark saw me

    as a great wet road that could be conquered

  with the rowing and paddling of men

under his command

  so i showed him

    my many rapids and waterfalls

      made his men carry their own boats

        and supplies around me for miles at a time

          these were the good years

            white men had not yet studied the beaver

        and learned how to redirect my paths

      manage my flow      harness it for their own use

   attempt to enslave me too

 captain lewis was different.

   to him i was a piece of art

     he marveled at the natural

       falling of my waterlocks and felt humbled

         by the beautifully carved rock masterpieces

           that adorn my canyons and walls

              while i have been at most an open way

                for the white man

                  to the red man

                    i have been viewed as a helpmate

                  considered a wife

                carrying their salmon and trout

              providing for their

            transportation and nourishment

          surrounding them

        moving through them

          in the heat of the sweat lodge

            answering their prayers

              when they dance

but the black one was the only one

taught to both fear and respect me

and though i was the road

that carried the ships of death

to and from africa's shores

i became the waiting outstretched arms

for those who refused

to be enslaved

for those who trusted me

to rock their babies off to sleep

my ocean floors    are covered with     his people's     resistance

    i carry their spirit       in every splash i make

      their humming

        their lost voices

          their last words

             have become a part

           of my sweetest songs

            when he is whole

        again

        when york knows

           what he is worth, i will well up inside

               of him and he   will hear

                  them sing.

We knew they were coming.

Our medicine men have been telling

of their arrival since before I was born.

When our warriors saw their small herd

their first thoughts were to kill them all

and with it the destruction they carried.

This I also believed they should do

until I saw the black one

standing off to the side

a small mountain

pretending to be a man

a man pretending to be on a leash.

To the unlearned eye he looked to be all alone

but when I stared at him with my spirit eye

I could see a great long woman standing behind him

with her arms crossed