Wind Spirit
By: Don Poss
© Copyright 2003

Once I tread forests, hues of green and amber, until
Spirits mixed and soared with others.
Language lost,
Heritage tossed
In fear of shame by the others.

Decades pass
And tales are told by Great Grandmothers,
Mom, and Aunts:
You are Cherokee.

I feel the power and beckon of drums at pow wow.
I reach out to the principal people ...
I am here. Can you see me?

You have no link to Rolls …
You cannot be …
You are not … documented.
Go Away ….

Confused. Shamed by first blood.
Heritage denied.
Spirit rejected.

Once I tread forests, hues of green and amber …
Still I reach out ...
I cannot go back. You must reach forward,
And Remember I once was
And now await Rebirth.
Or I am Spirit, like smoke,
Combed through ancient forests and
Lost to the wind.