What We Borrow

What can we keep

What things will keep

What will keep us

What can I learn from this soil

From these souls that lie in the ground

We inhale the smoke, exhale the smoke

And wait

Inside tepees of sticks and skins

With fire at their center

The air burns in our bodies

I built a birdhouse, in the form of a church

Nailed it to an elm tree in the yard

And waited

Watched for birds to make a home inside

But they chose the branches

I watched the light of flickering eyes

Through its arms

As the wind moved the leaves

I pleaded with the moon

And waited

Kneeling inside the house

Wondering at the silence

Marched seven times around the grounds

And asked

The Native spirits' forgiveness

Dug up medicine bottles from the soil

Listened to the murmuring wind

Placed my father’s ash

In the dirt

Trying to write my own deed

With blood

With stone

Placed my wooden stake in the rocky sand

And waited

What can we claim

I asked

A gold ring holds evil if held too tight

It burns the hands of the wearer

becomes a soiled thing

That screams

For fear of being lost

Death knows what we can keep

The wind knows what will keep

The ground knows what keeps us

The moon knows what we borrow

That the body is soil

A satchel for loose air

That land is a library

Our bodies are books

Our houses are books

Our children are books

We are all just books

We write

We read

And return

And another borrows

And returns

And returns

And returns