Let me talk of progress
between smoke tops and the tree’s bark.
Let me talk of it’s spirits breath
even as you sleep.
Let me crackle of fires burning
not the ones above
but the flames beneath your feet.
Hunted they were
by those with hearts of greed.
They choked in the skies
lost sands from feet
were broken on concrete walls
till their tongues hung
pegged dry in a line of silence.
Let me speak of joining
the separate to the apart.
They whisper of together
gathering at the bark
with a silence in their heart.
The skies are smothered.
Leaves pull in more
than what they can breath out
but there is a oneness
that one’s heart pounds in a shout.
Let me talk of a spirits breath
as the standing ones
gasp at a tightness edge.
Silence is what they sought
but the tongues of those that stood
knew the story within.
The cycle of rings
is a circled story
that is whispered in pain
and stolen in glory.
Now let me expand on growth
and the strength and oneness
of the ones still standing
to the ones
beginning, learning, healing and praying.
They struggled smudged, prayed,
in the sweetgrass, tobacco, cedar way.
A hearted good people
among a standing treed place
The stand was short
as many heard say
without the pull of the many
nobody heard, nobody could say.
Let me not talk
but let me tell
of joining and oneness.
of growth, and progress
of burning and a spirits breath
for what can be said
for they that wait
for rain to fall
on only their head.
But just listen
for where raindrops gather;
in the hollows and the narrows
of the rooted of the strong
when each drop is heard
with the splash of it’s assemblage.
LauraLee K. Harris
