Ancient Pueblos
I walked across the sands
in silence, alone;
the sun’s heat elongated
my shadow,
reminding me the journey was torturous.
I follow the dry riverbed
leading me to the ancient pueblo, Halona
and its ghost,
my ancestors.
Even before the pueblo thrived,
the People planted corn.
raised rabbits and sheep;
danced around the Kiva’s fire,
and told their origin stories.
As the wind blew, I saw ghosts
chasing Coyote,
while listening to Kokopelli’s flute
that whistled through the mesas.
Long, long, long ago
my ancient ancestors
knew the importance, and
nature of balance;
knew the way wind blew and
influenced the river’s flow.
My ancestors vanished
long before the White Man came.
Perhaps they knew what was coming,
the imbalance.
Though sometimes at night,
ancient ghosts roam,
as the wind blows their anger
through the mesa;
the Moon rises,
its beams reflect off pottery shards,
scattered near the Kiva;
whirlwinds kick up dust
as Kokopelli’s flute can occasionally be heard,
and Coyote barks and yelps at the Moon.
Now……
Nothing……
Not even the air,
is the same.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 10.12.19
I feel like I was standing there in the shadows of the past, dust blowing in my hair. You took us there. Much respect
Hi Willow, I see your hair blowing in those winds. Thank you for your kind words and ‘respect’. For my 75th birthday I had planned on taking a road trip to the Southwest, to walk among these Pueblos. Unfortunately my car died and the money I saved went to buy another car. That was 4 years ago and that trip has become a wishful thought, never to be realized. This poem, along with other Native American themed poems I have written have been gathered together to be sent to a publisher. If published, the book will be called “Poems Caught In My Dream Catcher.” Hopefully, this will happen soon. Anyway, thanks again Willow.