Still Night Lodge
Still night broken by call of soul owl
watching over the lodge of my father's brother.
The next world awaits my uncle.
His walking clothes prepared.
His feather oiled to a brave sheen.
Knife freshly sharpened in beaded sheath.
He calls to owl. I'm ready.
The women begin the journey chant.
My father dances with joy tears.
3/30/14
Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment