Rebirth

The snow of our ancestors / doesn’t come now.

The willow for baskets / harder and harder to find.

I see chokecherry islands shrinking. / The piñon pines thirsty and dry.

Our white brothers and sisters / tricked by Coyote / duped by their own greed / to walk off a cliff / and bringing everyone else / along with them.

Many worlds have come and gone before. / The ruins of collapsed civilizations lay strewn all around Turtle Island. / They remind us of the times when we too walked off a cliff. /

When we too wanted to be masters of Creation, instead of children of Creation.

Hubris cannot stand / on sacred ground / for long.

It always eventually eats away at it’s own mother until it / eats itself.

What the climate scientists don’t tell you, though, / is that there is life after death.

They don’t tell you that sometimes catastrophe / is the only way humans / Learn.

They don’t tell you / (they don’t understand) / that this is / Creator’s world.

Creator holds it all in their great hands, / even our collapse.

When he has run out of places to run, / when the riverbeds are nothing but sand, / only then will the white man’s “civilization” / remember to cry, to care, and to pray again.

Yes there is great suffering.

But the silver lining is this / eminent rebirth, / the soul’s long awaited exhalation / finally released / in these times of reckoning.

The snow used to come. / It doesn’t come now.