swoop in a bear chased Capt. Lewis full out
the length ova cornfield.
Made him jump in the river to get away.
When he climb out the bear turn into a tyger cat
then into three big bull buffalo
that charge him and chase him away.
Only then do I begins to understand her power.
Wordsmith
Wordsmith
The half-breed Frenchmans was something else
an pulled they weight as well as any a the mens
but nobody could best Drewyer
when it come to making his hands talk.
Most white men look stiff when trying to speak
with they hands instead a they lips
but he had a way a using his whole body to
communicate ’tween us an the Indians.
He always use his face an eyes to deepen the message
an could call up an change to any emotion needed
to make his words fly over an cause the Indians to nod.
He could make his body say buffalo or deer or bear.
His hands could be a great bald eagle or a hummingbird.
His arms and neck could call up a snake or a river.
Sometimes ’round the fire we ask him to sign us a story
just for the pleasure a seeing him make the words move.
Devil’s Tower
Devil’s Tower and the Big Dipper
for N. Scott Momaday, Rock Tree Boy
Seven sisters an they brother was playing
in what the Indians call the Black Hills out west
the boy pretend to be a grizzly bear
an chase his sisters ’round an ’round
he play so hard he turn into a real bear
an try to eat the sisters who become afraid an run
when they run past a tree stump it hollas out
an tell the sisters to climb on for protection
when bear catch up the stump begin to grow
an grow an grow ’til he can’t reach them no more
bear get angry an scrape up stump with claws
stump turn to rock to protect itself
stump keep growing an the seven sisters get so high
them become the seven stars in the ol’ drinking gourd.
Power a Touch
Power a Touch
When things was first born
sun touch moon
an pass on light
moonlight touch water
an pass on dance
water move upon the land
an give her hips
hips give birth to trees
an them bear fruit
fruit teach man
to pass on seeds
man plant seeds
an woman become moon
moon get full
give birth to son
Red, Light, and Blue
Red, Light, and Blue
William Henry Jackson . . . took a picture of a Nez
Perce half-breed . . . other Nez Perce told him, was
the son of William Clark.
—Alvin M. Josephy Jr.,
Lewis and Clark Through Indian Eyes
The hero makers say
the captains try an set
a good example
an be too gentlemanly
or too busy
to lie
with Indian women.
But like Ol’ York say
babies always tell
on themselves, especially
when they comes out
with red hair,
whiter skin
than they mamma’s
an eyes
the color a the sky.
Field Up
Field Up
He who learns teaches.
—African Proverb
When Brotha come back from da journey
colored folk come from miles ’round
an sits on da porch all night
just t’hear stories ’bout da indians ’n da ochian
some a da things he say
gets us yung bucks mighty excited ’n stirred up
’n scares off da olda ones
’specially when he talk a tastin’ freedom
what it mean t’be a man
’n how out west they worship
our blackness ’n live married to da lan’
like our people do back in Africa
He have us all struttin’ like roostas
’n not rushin’ t’grin ’n fetch it when called
boys or chil’ren or uncle or less for a long time.
Rose Shows Her Thorns
Rose Shows Her Thorns
York act like his axe got two heads on it
an’ dat he da One who make lightnin’ strike
but his thunder ain’t no more den a han’ clap.
I bites my tongue outta respect fo’ his daddy
’cause he parta da blame for eggin’ on
dat boy’s foolishness all dese years
but I lost my taste for ’im after listenin’ to ’im
all night on the porch braggin’ to da mens ’bout
sleepin’ wit’ long haired Indian women
an’ how much prettier dey is den us, how much
softer dey skin be an’ how dey don’t talk back.
How dey treated him like a king an’ whatnot.
Like ’at wife a his ain’t neva washed his dirty feet.
If he was really my son, he’d know better den actin’
so high an’ mighty. A big tree fall just the same
as a little one, only harder.
Just ’cause he ain’t out in da field. Just ’cause he follow
Massa Clark ’round like a pet dog an eat da scraps
off his plate, he think he better den the rest a us.
He couldn’t hardly get his big head in the door when he left.
Now he back here, tellin’ all dem lies, an’ claimin’ to be a hero
for wipin’ a white man’s ass alla way to the ochian an’ back.
Summer a Peace
Summer a Peace
I dreams so much about the expedition
I wakes up tasting the air for ochian salt
an take on a load a sadness when I open
my eyes an find that I am not a buffalo.
Even awake my mind carry me back
to the Nez Perce an the peaceful life there.
I miss the time spent playing games
while waiting for the mountain snow to melt.
It lift our spirits to try to outshoot their warriors,
pitch the rings at the stick, an run races on foot
though they was the masters a anything on horseback.
I pray the peaceful times I left is theirs forever
an that freedom is all my lil’ York an his mamma
ever know, but I fear it is a empty prayer.
A New York
A New York
Ev’rytime I sees a beautiful anything with a mustang heart,
catch the moon with her eye wide open or hear the river
slap a wet rock like a man slap his woman’s thigh at night
I close my eyes an see her standing there, naked
just after a hard rain, belly fulla promises
an I suddenly remembers what huckleberries taste like
then I know, it one thing to force a man to remember
his life as a slave, but it another to expect him to forget
such gifts as these.
Dream Catcher
Dream Catcher
The old woman reach in my stomach
an pull out a horse covered with spots.
She keeps pulling an pulling horses ’til
they numbers four.
Then they ride ’round in a big circle
alla way to where the sun rise
when they gets back to us
they all c
arrying chiefs.
When I make to stare at them I can see
they all be tied to they horses
an alla the riders is dead except one.
An he is cradling a book a light in his arms.
When the people see the book they cut off
they hair an burn all they medicines an skins
Then they stand together in a long long line
wrapped in thin blankets ’til they fall asleep.
When they wake, somebody has stolen alla land.
Alla buffalo are dead. An half-breeds out number
the trees. When I ask the old woman who did this
she points at me an begins to sing a wailing song.
Part III
End a the Song
End a the Song
When Massa Clark trade in his buckskin
for ruffled shirts, silk hose, and buckled shoes
I knows my gun an hatchet an knife be next
being back inside the stomach a the city
put knots in mine after all I seen an done out west
the thunder a buffalo, the roar ova grizzly, the voices
a the ochian an waterfalls is all dead to me here
out in the wild, I could hear my mamma sing
with each morning sun, here in Louavul an St. Louie
I hear nothing but the sound a money being made,
the crack a the whip, an no music.
Say My Name
Say My Name
York’s slave wife
Folks round here wanna call me Auntie,
York’s ol’ wife, or Massa So an So’s niggah wench
Like I ain’t got a name a my own.
Dem don’t know how hard it be t’put aside
a lil’ piece a myself dat nobody can’t neva touch
but me, a piece big enuf t’wrestle the long hard days
an keep itself warm at night, without a man ’round.
Dem don’t know what it like to stand in the dark
night afta night wrapped in dat buffalo robe he sent
look up at the stars an wonda which ones
is lookin down on him an believe if something bad
happen to him out there dat I would feel it too
When he come home, I don’t need him to say he love me
I don’t need him to bring me gifts, I just wants him
to hold me close, make like he glad to see me
bend down t’my ear an whisper my name.
Unwelcome Guest
Unwelcome Guest
York’s slave wife
I don’t think York knowed
I could see hur too.
Da furst time was in da corna a his eye
while he look far off but stare at
da plate right in front a him.
He didn’t say nothin’ bout hur
but da way his lips turnt up at da ends
said plenny.
I ain’t one t’sass. His growl help me
to know a slave woman’s place
so I sits up all night wit both my hands
an ears open, waitin’ t’catch hur name
on his lips.
Afta dat, no matta how much he talk
a grizzlies, buffalos, big fish,
mountains, or ochians
she become all I can see
all I wants t’know
It gets so crowded in our lil’ place
I swears I can almost smell hur.
An by den I knows one a us will have t’go.
Sunflower Seed Oil
The Sunflower Seed Oil Conjure
York’s slave wife
First, I gets some fresh well wada
an puts it on t’boil
stirs up a tea brewed from
apricot vine, rattlesnake weed
an plenny a honey.
Den I sets him down ’tween my knees
an wit a wooden tooth comb
left t’me by my mamma’s mamma
commences t’scratchin at his scalp
’til his shouldas look covad wit snow.
Den I fills up my wash tub wit
boilin’ wada doctored wit peppermint root
an sets to scrubbin’ him slow enough
fo’ the heat t’open his doors.
When his body is clean I starts back t’work
on his head
bustin up a mean suds and usin’
my fingas to walk up an down his scalp
’til he let loose a low moan
an his eyes start t’roll ’round in his head.
Afta I rinses an twists alla forest out
I starts back in wit warm sunflower seed oil
only dis time ev’ry finga make its own lil’ circle
while both m’hands make bigga ones
an they follows each otha from da stiff tree limbs
in da back a his neck, cross his crown
t’his soft spot while my thumbs dig in
slow an deep where da headaches come on.
I pours da extra oil inta my hans an rub
his neck an shouldas, down t’his ribs
an arms den like a turtle dance
I moves back up again.
I works slow an hard an afta a while
when I gets alla way t’his man sack
he open his eyes an be glad its me.
Chapel a Love
Chapel a Love
York’s slave wife
A woman who has a good marriage is said to sleep in a good bed.
—African Proverb
After a tin a apricot vine tea
us use the buffalo skin
as the earth
an pile a bunch a quilts
into something like
a handmade sky
an makes us a real
lodge a sweat
If it based on how much
calling on God
come forth
in the dark
what married people do together
on bended knees
once dem work past dey anger
can be holy too.
To Have and to Hold
To Have and to Hold
It do more harm than good
to be enslaved an agree to love forever
when there be folks over us
with even more power than death
to do us part.
Being another man’s property
alls I can promise is
when we in the same quarters
no one will hold you closer
or with more tenderness than me.
If ever I have to choose between
another day a service an death
I will always choose livin’.
Even if Massa sell me down
the Mississippi tomorrow
or pair me up with another woman
to breed
I will only think on what we had
an chase away thoughts
a what we had not.
I aims to see you ev’ry Sunday an Christmas
but if ever I’m away more than two whole
seasons without sending back word,
untie the ribbons from that broom we jump
mourn for me but a little
then set your mind to figuring
on how you gone stay warm
when winter come.
Real Costs
Real Costs
York’s slave wife
Somewhere out dere
he learnt t’touch me
like I’m a woman
an not just some woman.
Me.
In our marriage bed
he seem as intrested
in pleasing me as he be
in spillin’ hisself.
I knew he come back
changed
when new words
fall out his mouf like
love an freedom
an manhood.
An dere come a look
; in his eye
like he own all three
free an clear
an don’t need no papers
t’prove it.
But it scare me
’cause I seent dat look
in many a black eye
b’fo white hammas
nailed it shut
o’ left it frozen open
an swingin’
t’teach da rest
what anything dat smell
like courage cost.
I have no doubt
he give his life t’stay
wit me
so I don’t tell ’im dat Massa
takin’ me back
down south.
I just kiss him soft t’sleep
an stare at him long enough
t’call up his face
when I gets old an thankful
he still be breathing
somewhere
when winta come.
Seeing is Believing
Seeing is Believing
Ol’ York
Slow by slow we all try on the white man’s Jesus
needing something after throwing away Oludumare
an alla gods us come here wit’, believing they left us first
but it clear to me dat a faith dat ask a man an his woman
to bow down an serve anotha man an his chil’ren
just ’cause he white, work betta fo’ Massa than him slaves.
The old ones say that in Ile-Ife, in the beginning
us danced our faith. We didn’t sit like rows a corn
to listen to a white man say how good the next life be.
’Legba, the trickster be ev’rywhere in this place
blocking alla roads, forcing us to call on the Orisas
in ones ’n twos or hide them up under angels ’n saints.
Part IV
Prenupt Agreement
Prenupt Agreement
1 president’s dream
plus 2 captains
almost 3 dozen men
one 15 year old Indian wife
her baby
a slave
plus
one 55 foot keelboat