Apache

A wood carving,while I swim back ,A True American Royal

We had a Apache boy ,teen,man,brother, lived with us.
Quiet ,dark eyes,Square responsible shoulders,deep chest,
My mind looks at people,things,like "livestock"
The measure of the world looks back at me the same way"livestock".
Chief Garfield,1884,A photo by Curtis ,his eyes, dark,royal,Velarde,a line, of leaders.
This boy living with us fit that mold,carried the weight of two cultures.
But as a boy, me, I treated him like a Bear,I painted him with curious respect.
Talk ? no we didn't have to much to speak, we just knew.
When my dad was a boy there was a saying
"If they said jump they ask, how high already in the air" .
When I was a boy,when he said move "I would jump".Because by then,it was
too late,I had failed to anticipate,failed to think ahead,shut the gate,hand the wrench,
or hammer,failed to live in the flow of grace.
Now you ask a kid they just ask" why? "
Time.... Times have changed.
My friend the "Jicariilla"
(Some Jicarilla's think the "Mescalero" arn't even real Apaches)
Grew up, spoke at my dads funeral,600 to 800 people,
Packed the Fairgrounds Youth Hall.
The accountant said that was a lot,(I guess that type of guy would know)
The Indian Man, had to grab the podium ,
Bowed  his back , pulling the heart of a ceder post.
Right out of his Center, Alone, right out of the ground,
Under the weight of 16hundred eyes,eight hundred people,their breath reverent.
Somewhere in him his ancestors helped hold his emotions.
The room listened,fed their energy back to the Indian,Back to themselves.
To a story of trust, 'a man ,my dad, had given a teen.
Responsibility never had been given so freely to him,a Indian , a teen.
My Dad had a way of making people not want to disappoint him.
To him all were equal.
People,horses,"Livestock"would go where He thought.
Not out of fear,but, love,respect,
Emotions like that are serious motivators,
That is why the room ,was full,spilling out the doors,Respect,Honor, Love Carved
In the Hearts and Welling eyes,
By Casey a cowboy gone.







 

Author's Note

Pulled this off my "Lefty poem" I Felt "Bobby" who provided the double rainbows,
( in the "Religious Edge of my Mind" Poem). Could speak on his own to you,
though his "Clan" thought enough of Lefty, to name a child "Righty"
In New Mexico we call that ,
Logical.

Reviews

[Tree]

Deeply, moving. I felt this in the marrow of my bones. To be respected not out of fear but because you were loved, honored for your deeds, and the way that you treated people is what we should all strive for, in this, our short time of existence. This was a great read, Lee. I learned, and or was reminded of some very important things, most importantly, that our actions while we were alive do not die with us, but live on in the form of inherited deeds, by those we most affected.

Thank you for this write, lee


Diego

[OBWhiteHawk]

Your dad sounds a lot like my pop, lol. I like that you and the Apache boy could communicate without saying a word. This is really good.

[Circe]

times have changed... yes they really have.. I felt it in this poem... so divine. I am moved by any of your pieces.. you write so much feeling, experience.. you write real life but about meaningful stuff that stays with us.. memories, legacies.. the endless soul... just beautiful.

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

You just find that hidden well ... The underground aquifer every time. This story... This needs publication. There is so much strength and memory and honor contained it just bursts through. Your masculine voice really changes things when you write. Oh... Hard describing. Hear me...... Hear what I felt here. Unbelievable and powerful and another one made me weep for the beauty of things like honor, trust, strength... So many other masculine virtues in all of you ... just waiting for men like you... like Casey to bring it forth. these things so innate of men... so sadly lost to this generation

[Raaf]

I'm really enjoying your prose. It's like listening to the sound of someone day dreaming.

The sentimentality wanders its focus from begining to end. Is this a story of the boy who came to live with you? Your reflection on his contribution to your life? His relationship to your father? Your father's relationship to him? Each sentence moves the nostaligic premise around and I like (i.e. "prefer") how it settles in the end. But the meandering focus makes it a little more difficult to emotionally attach myself.

"apologies to the readers" too abrupt, me thinks.

Gorgeous work, really enjoy rereading it several times.

[Cherrie Palmer]

I had two men like that in my life my Father (who died when is was a 15) and never stopped being daddy and my grandpa. Those titles dont give that power but it is the soul of the man, great piece.