When Winter Come (2 page)
Authors: Frank X. Walker
Nez Perce for “she who returned from a far-away country”
Yemaya
Orisa of the sea and maternal love
Role Call
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.
Homecoming
You will be at ease only in your own home.
âAfrican 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.
The Melting
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.
The Great Inquisition
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.
In the Name a the Father
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.
How the River Like a Snake
Whoever sees the snake and does not flee, plays with
death.
âYoruba 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.
The River Speaks
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
â
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.
Watkuweis Speaks
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