TIME OF NO RAIN

                                        A long time ago, before the Wuk-chum’-nees came to Id’-ik,
                                        the Kaweah River, the old-time bird and animal people who
                                        lived at Sho-no’-yoo near Lemon Cove almost starved. There
                                        was no rain. The ground was dry and bare. Trah’-tah, the
                                        Oak tree had no acorns. There was no Kis’-tin seed, no Kaw’-
                                        wah seed, and no Chee’-tut clover. Tro’-khud, the Eagle;
                                        Wee’-hay-sit, the Mountain Lion, and all those people had
                                        nothing to eat.
                                                             – F.F. Latta (“The Great Famine”)

We have grown numb to the dry,
plodding circles, feeding hay,
weighing which girls go, who stays.

We, who think we have the best to offer
bird and animal people, grow calloused
to the color, to the dawn, to the day

after day of the earth struggling.
Grandfather oaks lay down, pull
their roots free to serve leaves

to cattle. Nothing is as it was,
no cycle or sign into the future,
no escape except that empty gaze

before ascension when the soul
prepares to leave the flesh,
collecting essentials, just in case.