TS'EEKKAAYAH — Spring Camp
In the month of Beaver
I watch the night sky
Thinking this was the time of year
We made spring camp.
Memories stretch and pull around me--
Bark drying on a new canoe.
Hunters sprawl by the fire
Outcamp bread bubbles in grease,
Duck soup gurgles
In the old black dutch oven.
‘Way off, drifting through birches,
Fat smells drown our mouths
Mom calls “Onee’!”
Yelling we race to camp,
Tumbling brown bear cubs.
Uncle and Papa grumble at us
In gruff voices I have heard for a lifetime.
Listen. My brothers are singing.
Bernie squeaks a high note,
Makes Billy start giggling.
They wrestle awhile.
After supper they make caribou song,
Honking on a tin harmonica.
Echoing cloud voices call
Over Nulato, over Kaiyuh
High over Denali, over Chugach
Over miles of islands,
Years of dancing, mourning
Loving, dying. (continued)
Crowfeather shadows crawl
Along thin blue edges of darkness
Great horned owl sails low,
Winter grey wings fan the river,
Her yellow eyes blazing
Threaten yeega’, bad luck spirits.
We yawn into our beds
Inside a ring of sleeping dogs.
Papa says they keep away wolves.
We snug down furry,
Billy and I wrapped in
Dark music of spruce trees.
Breath of life flows through our spirits
From forest, flames, owls wings.
Our breath is one
Under the shining of Dolt’ol, the moon
Walking through the sky.