May Day has come and gone on this benighted country with sunshine and solitude...The Colonel read prayers on the scow this morning and again reminded us of home and civilization.
We spend our time dislodging from
sandbars - I am riding a slow-moving tick
- framed by a riverbank thickening
with brush and colour
as if our eyes are what draw the
woods as if even nature seeks refuge
from the bleak plains beyond -
and we are reminded God is on our
side. That might and right
shall prevail.
By the hour Mother's on her usual bench,
gardenias and starched lace.
On the Lord's Day I find myself
in a Godforsaken place.
* * *
May 2nd: Cut Knife Hill Pitikwahanapiwiyin
Jacob-with-the-Long-Hair, an Elder who always rose early
Heard the splash of soldiers in the creek
Four hundred armed men, the clink and clatter
- no animal or wandering spirit
lost in the dawn
Fear, safety: we had gathered
like the buffalo themselves, one tribe.
Waking not to morningsong and the stir of fires:
but two cannons and a Gatling gun firing
on our families
the weight and tangle of collapsing tipi
- surprise of skin and pole on my childsmooth
face
wondering how i'd awoken in a cloudless thunderstorm
at dawn, being pulled free by my mooshum, a
silenced wail from a sister
Skimming flight to the ravines: my father
was one of the group of warriors who charged
the gunfire
our mothers counted children
smothered cries with breasts, splayed hands,
whispers and wide eyes.
Pîhtokahânapiwiyin, him they call Poundmaker
gave us quiet assurance while Fine Day
took position atop the hill
signalling attacks. I,
I brought him water after three hours.
He did not take his eyes from the field.
Our men were swift, fearless
as foxes. From the ravines they would rush
and return like rainwater. Deadly game: we were
wherever they turned their backs.
Their big gun had broken: we gave them
no targets. When they became
a wedge, we crept along the ravines
always drawing closer, a tightening
snare.
My people have always known
the gift, the curse
of invisible
At the end, when they fled, Fine Day
signalled pursuit. Not one of their soldiers
would have held life after that day
but for Pîhtokahânapiwiyin.
"They came for a fight, and found it.
Now let them go."
The greatest of warriors
makes peace, our Elders
say it is so.
Now old myself, I look back on that time
and know we all received less mercy than he gave.
Three years in Stony Mountain Pen: he shouted to the judge
he'd rather be sent that very day
to his grave.
3 comments:
i really like these poems. the images they conjure up in my mind are long-lasting. in this one i particularly like the line "surprise of skin and pole" and the stanza that begins with "our mothers counted." i look forward to more!
Just curious, are these two completely separate poems, or meant to be linked together? I like the contrast of the "gardenias and starched lace" vs. the natural/terrifying experience of the other child. I wonder, in the second part, if you could pare things down even more, make this even more immediate and visceral. I like the subject matter/time period you're working with here. Looking forward to more.
Thanks guys...agree, needs to be shortened.
right now I'm working from the timeline 125 years ago; most things happened late March to mid-May, it seems inevitable to write about it during 2010, Year of the Métis.
today is the 125th anniversary of Cut Knife Hill (the second half)
...but I'm also riffing off entries in a journal from an Ontario Lieutenant, excerpts being the italicized beginnings and my starting point (so that is the "link" - arbitrary dates!)
I'm imagining them (in my head) as being opposing pages - same day, different story :P
While he was drifting down the S. Sk writing in his journal, Cree & Assiniboine (Nakota/Sioux/Anishanaabe) were defending their families from a largely unprovoked attack - Poundmaker had stated his intention that he wished to remain clear of the fighting.
Poundmaker had in fact taken his people to talk to the Indian Agent; to let known their view for peace - settlers around N. Batt panicked and fled to the fort with cries of "the Indians are coming!"
(I was thinking this morning of how much cultural misunderstanding and fear and suspicion and "lost in translation" moments have defined history - yesterday too, Thomas McKay shooting the blind Elder, thinking his fumbling extended hand was trying to wrest his weapon away rather than reach for his own hand in peace)
ANyway - after waiting 2 days to talk to someone, Poundmaker gave up & took his people back towards the reserve.
(In their wake, they were blamed for looting, but apparantly as well as other bands in the area, some of the white settlers were even taking advantage of the panic-emptied homes, and then blaming the Indians.)
so against orders from on high, and under pressure from the locals, 400 soldiers were sent after them - RCMP, cavalcade, special forces & sharpshooters - with plans to catch them in the early morning while they were sleeping and open fire on their encampment, essentially massacring the entire 1500 while they slept.
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