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.
Copyright © Alaska Brant | Year Posted 2015
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