These people are not my people
These ways are not the ways of my people
These stories are not the stories
I heard in my youth
But the path you walk
Is one I wish my feet to travel
The fire you light
To stay warm
Is the one I wish to lay next to every night
And the arms that reach for me
Though they are not the color of my own
Are the arms I wish to have protect me
Day
And Night

My heart beats in the same rhythms as yours
My soul embraces the same hopes for the people
My hands wish to take whatever I have
That is of use
And offer it
My prayers go up in the same smoke
My lips remember the melodies the grandmothers
And grandfathers used to sing
Though I do not understand how
And with the same spirit
I lift my voice in song

Though I was not raised in the same way
I honor and respect the way your elders
Brought your ways to you
Though I did not learn
All that is important about human beings
I will tuck it away in my heart
If you will only show me
Though I do not know how to walk upon
The good red road
I will gladly discard my sneakers
For any pair of moccasins
Any day

I am only a sad white woman
Living the most pitiful “american” dream
The only thing I know
Is that there is a better way
And it is not the way of my people
I have no right to ask you for anything
But I would gladly offer my tobacco
And a life of service
In exchange for just one hand
That might guide me onto the good red road

12/28/2003

Author's Note: I suppose I should offer some explanation for this work, especially since it is so seemingly off the path of what I've posted so far. I have always felt a longing to live in this way, and to be loved by a partner who understands this way. It's been a fantasy of mine, I guess, that I am just now indulging since I find myself without a mate. Maybe it is even a long distance call into the universe...

Posted on 12/29/2003
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie