Death of Our Elders

The Death of our Elders

I sit to talk of wind and fear,
death swelling in black clouds that hid the moonlight.
Old men sitting silently, bringing the firewood,
Stoking the fire and smoking their pipes
While aunts made way for the journey.

No strangers appeared then – no stories, no teaching,
Low whispers over firelight near the lamp light.
Outside where the young ones waited
Confusion formed on winds rising.

Go east, we heard them saying –
Old aunts weighted down with their praying
Sent the young ones through the darkness
Too near hollows filled with spirits
Who would not tell the young ones stories,
Only scar them with their nearness
On the dark, the endless journey
Through the forest with their news.

Sadel’s ghost blew up behind them
Touching heels and teasing shoulders
Breath so old they felt its passing
Could not dream of what she said.

It is wolf, old aunts cautioned
When they ran for home, afraid
In the wind that beats behind you
Your own fears that have found you
Hungry devils of your making.

Now we sisters keep the vigil
Call the old ones to be ready
Light the lamp and stoke the fire
Watching death, it comes completely
And then the bowl of sacred water
Meant to wash her, now to send her
Go east, we tell her, go to the east.