When Winter Come (5 page)

—African Proverb

I saw a medicine woman surrounded in smoke

turn a buffalo horn 'round

an use it to suck the illness an blood out

a sick body without so much as making a cut.

I watched a medicine man shake his bear claw

sing a healing song an cry for the evil spirit

that lived in a crippled man to leave him in peace.

In the middle a the night there come a great wind

an thundering hoofs that put our fire to sleep.

When the sun returned the man stood up an walked.

I ordered my boy York to dance. The Indians seem
amazed that a man so large is so light on his feet.

—William Clark

Something like leaving happens

when I be ordered to dance.

Not the pack up camp an go kinda leave

but how things might be if my mind

weren't shackled inside my head

like dreaming but not being asleep.

I might take a puff a tobacco, tie on

a piece a red cloth an wave my hatchet

'round my head to get my mind right.

An once I gets good an loose, I starts

to feel lighter an lighter 'til soon

I hardly weighs nothing at all.

I spends as much time in the air

as on my feet an after a while it's like

my soul be dancing to drums that thunder

an I be a small child on the ground watching

my body follow the music, catch it

then leave it to make its own.

My captain think it make him look more powerful

to order a man such as me to dance

but the Indians see my body move by its own spirit

an not by a white man's hand

raise they voices, sing nothing but praises

an join me in the air.

I seen a flock a large birds

change direction at the same time

as if they be a the same mind

or listen to the same drum

like whirling dancers waiting for the break.

I seen more buffalo than trees

run full out 'cross a valley

shoulder to shoulder hoof to hoof

trample everything under foot

somehow spare a newborn deer

frozen in a wet ball alone

an hidden

among the high weeds.

Like our people, Indians believe

even the animals share a master drummer

but the captains think we the only ones

that know how to dance.

. . . the succession of curious adventures wore the
impression on my mind of enchantment.

—Meriwether Lewis, June 14th
, 1805

One day I separated from the rest a the party to follow

a group a buffalo that seem to call my name

an this angry low cloud swoop down over the river the way

that lion swoop down on the monkey's back in that story

a Ol' York's, only this lion is big an black like me

full a thunder an lightning, an throwing down iceballs

as big as my fist, so I whistles sharp an loud, gets low an

strokes the shells on the hunting shirt she gimme,

an it fly right over.

Before I can reflect on how lucky I be, it come to me that

Charbono's squaw an her lil' warrior, Jean Baptiste

is now right b'neath that lion's claws, so I stampedes back

for the rescue an finds they barely escapes a surprise flood

that washed away Capt. Clark's compass an Charbono's gun.

I think no more about it 'til I hear that before the cloud

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

our backs straight 'n chins up

'n not rushin' t'grin 'n fetch it when called

boys or chil'ren or uncle or less for a long time.

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.

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.

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.

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 carrying 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.

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.

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.