Holding Back

The sun dances
As the horse chases
The shadow of dawn
That meets the mesas
This morning.

Up on the horse sits
The spirit of the hatathli (singer)
&
Standing against the wind
We are in observance.

Tears fall
As loved ones explore his solidified face.
A slight chill enters the doors
And caresses his unfamiliar body.
Questions emerging from the base of
the church’s curtains.
Answers yet to be told at the gravesite.

I hum to myself.

A respected man lies in God’s arms
Unable to be refused but blessed by him.
He will be planted in the family plot,
Among the deities from yesterday’s world.
They will make the journey together
With that one set of footprints through the
Thickening sand.

I stutter the Morning Prayer to myself.

Pain will ease after years of wrestling
Surgeries and the battle for survival.

Relatives will cleanse their faces of tears;
Shed and rejoice in shared recollections.
Lost emotions jumping from heart to
Heart amongst the unplanned church.

I recite the beginning of the Beauty Way to myself.

Dust lifts from the ground.
Minutes pass.
A ground he once roamed in his youth.
The Spirit of Dawn awaiting him to the east.
The Spirit of Blue Twilight awaiting him to the south.
The Spirit of Yellow Evening Twilight awaiting him to the west.
The Spirit of Folding Darkness to the north.

And we call it the cycle of life.
Born to the sacredness of our mother’s touch.
Pushed into the rigid nights of our father’s wants.
We chant to a language exposed on our journey.
Because it was then that I carried you, Old Daddy.

One child believing the entrance
To the next world opened for him.
A whole new world of holiness and hozho
Where spirits roam freely,
Whispering a glorified ceremony.

A once aching
Heart comes
To peace
In the silhouette
Of his mother’s cross
Where I sit and stare into
The horse’s eyes.