I Have a Song to Sing

Every Native woman has a song to sing. It may take a lifetime to hear it, to sing it and to dance to it. It is the spiritual song that defines one.

I Have a Song to Sing

By Carol Crismond

                             

Standing on the edge of the rock formation, eyes raised to the sky.

Listening for the whisper of sounds, maybe words,

telling me that my song is here at the edge of this mountain.

 

Raising my hand up to the Creator, waiting for the spirit

of my song to arrive.

Softly entering my mind then my heart finally, the last stop the soul.

The day is moving quickly, and evening begins.

No song yet.

 

My drum is in hand tapping softly then intensely.

Echoes repeat through the top of the mountain into the valley below,

as the cedars move back and forth, strong winds, snow now falling,

ready to end my quest for song with a blanket of snow covering the way back.

 

 Softly, I hum reliving the past of those Natives who have stood here before me.

Another time the same place, searching for their song.  I can see them clearly.

The mountain is the strength of our ancestors, the cedars bring a message.

The thick forest filled with evergreen needles and pine.

The earth that has felt the walking of others passing through.

Singing their chant. A song that haunts you with soft voices that become a longing moan.

No song yet.

 

A song can only be sung in the Native language, with the sound of the drum.

I learned the language, to be able to raise my hands up singing out loud in my Native tongue.

I come to this place many times during fall, summer, winter and spring.

Growing old desperate to hear the sound that opens my heart to my mind and finally,

to sing my song until I have exhausted my voice, but never my heart.

 

Native women have a song to sing. It comes to them through the Creator.

And once found it stays.  You can hear the chant passing her home, from the mountain,

and where others gather to sing and dance to their song.

The drum is her only accompaniment.

She sings this song until she can no longer.

As she sings and dances holding her drum a journey takes place.

A place where no one else may go, she is one with her Creator.

No song yet.

 

I will return to the mountain again, drum in hand.

To the top of the mountain pass, through the forest.

Remaining silent, meditating, waiting for my song.

 

Yes, I will return to the mountain where eagles fly, and wolves stay watching.

Cautious are the inhabitants of the mountain as they watch me, patiently.

 I begin the humming until the sound takes over and echoes through the mountain,

and I am no longer alone waiting for my song.

Perhaps at last, I will be filled with the spiritual healing, and ecstasy that only my song can give.

As a Native woman I must have my song or die with the eternal emptiness,

So, I will return to this place once again,

to listen and wait for the song that is mine, and only mine.

The song that no one else may sing.

No song yet.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This glorious poem takes the reader on a spiritual journey with evocative images of nature and native American culture as well as empowerment. In the song of all things great and small that resides throughout to within one's spirit. To pay homage and sing of its beauty in the people, culture, and ancestry which are defined by it. Thank you Carol for sharing this artful piece with us.

[Zoe Richardson]

It is hard to wait for the Creator's gifts. But so worth it!