A Hundred Years of Tears
A young Native American boy was interested in his heritage
like many of us he wanted to know where he haled from
for he knew who he was and who he is…determines who he’ll become.
His father took him to an old cemetery…without any fanfare…without any frills
It was an unmarked private resting place…high up in the hills.
They sat silently for a moment…to allow old memories to amass
and so the spirits of their ancestors could join them in the grass…
He wanted his son to see for himself…he wanted him to understand
where so many of his ancestors were killed…by settlers who wanted their land.
He said this grass where we are sitting on…has grown here all these years…
nurtured by the sunlight…and a hundred years of tears…
But he also wanted his son to know…to make him understand
how his ancestors loved the beauty of the air…the trees, the sky…the land…
How they would talk to the animals…how they could walk without making a sound…
how the ground where they were sitting…is considered sacred ground…
“This cemetery is a reminder," he said, “of how nothing on Earth will last.
A place to look to the future with joy…while we grieve the sufferings of the past."
As his father retold old stories…his son felt connected…he felt proud
and on that hill-top cemetery…he made a solemn vow…
to carry on his culture…his traditions
to remember his history…
to ride on the back of his ancestors and be the best person he could be….
And he still remembers that day in the cemetery
listening to stories of hope and love and fear….
Sitting with eyes focused on the future
In grass softened by a hundred years of tears..
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