(this poem was inspired by the photography exhibit Miyelo, by artist Viggo Mortensen)
How do you know what to expect
I surely didn't
And walking in I was naive and timid
This place was new to me
And the whim that had drawn me
Made my hand now shake
Yet the blurred colors soon removed my awareness
And the clean open space seemed even larger
I lost the sound of the traffic
The click of someone's heels also faded
So quiet not even my own subconscious
could acknowledge
The photographs were out of focus and smeared
Yet when I closed my eyes
I clearly saw the faces
And heard the drums
The few drops of Native American blood I possess
Came to life with power and pride
This photographer froze a moment in time
But I can feel the motion
I know the moves of this dance
Each stomping step
Compacts the earth
And pushes the steps of past generations
Further down
Reminding and defining a tradition of praise
Feeding and massaging the Great Mother Earth
The purpose of this occasion
My blood cannot recall
The reason lost to the other heritages
Combined in me
But it calls and comforts me now
When chaos is approaching
This history almost lost
Captured here
On one roll of film
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