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| Raven, Gene Tagaban at Xunaa Shula Hit; Kenneth Grant video |
I once witnessed a Kwakiutl raven dance,
when we made summer sojourns to the Pacific Northwest.
Tricksters, and creators of light, those long summer nights
when I was but half-formed and didn’t know the confines of shadows.
Seeking fish wisdom, we ate salmon sizzling from the campfire,
under faint stars, the feathered cloak of night tucking us in.
Perhaps this is why I talk to those ravens canted against the sky.
They always seem to circle back and listen, tilting their heads
to gaze upon me with dark eyes as if to understand each nuance.
Unfortunately I always talk to them as if they were cats
or killer whales. As if expecting answers. Maybe a warble or two.
Don’t they know that all cats, and ravens, by extension,
are black at night, which is probably a good thing
they can’t decipher anything I say.
4/9 NaPoWriMo
Perhaps this is why I talk to those ravens canted against the sky.
They always seem to circle back and listen, tilting their heads
to gaze upon me with dark eyes as if to understand each nuance.
Unfortunately I always talk to them as if they were cats
or killer whales. As if expecting answers. Maybe a warble or two.
Don’t they know that all cats, and ravens, by extension,
are black at night, which is probably a good thing
they can’t decipher anything I say.
4/9 NaPoWriMo
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