Voices

Upon my back is the future of my people, observing me and the other women for they, too, carry symbols of hope and life. I labored many days while I carried him in my belly, crafting his transportation, his protection. I have bound him in his cradleboard, beaded with tigerlilies, like those that sprout beautifully by the river, skinned with the hide of a gentle doe snagged by my father's arrow. A wintry rabbit pelt lines his body and snuggles him when I cannot. Sparrow's feathers wave -in front of his chipmunk cheeks and mud brown eyes- gently in the breeze that washes our sweat away. I stand, tall and proud of my work, to earn praise from the elders that I am a good mother. Upon my back, my life, my love, my child, I carry him, my son. Upon her back I am carried, burrowed, deep down against the soft rabbit's fur that rubs my cheek by the grace of her warm hand. I watch over the fields as living rabbits hop around, and birds fly free while I am snuggled in this. I hear the pounding of the buffalo's hooves as hunters chase them with the fury of the dogs in the village after their own tails. A coyote howls in the distance, watching us, staring at me as though I am dinner. I cry; she hushes me with the lullaby of the wind singing to trees when the moon is high. She resumes bouncing me, continuing her work with the others. A breeze passes my face as she turns back towards home. Now I am removed from one comfort to another, Mama's embrace, as she cuddles me close and helps me remember that I am always with her.