I am in a sweet place
standing in Millcreek
on a road
in its canyon
and this sweet place
has also been the sweet place
of my people
I am staring
into the water
my grandmother fished
with a rod and a line
I am standing
near the head
of a timber trail
felled by grandfather’s
grandfather
I am listening
to the aspen
its green coins
singing in the wind
and I know it sang
just like this
for them
I am standing
right at the center
of its singing
the same sound
heard by black bears
or the calf of a moose
lying even sweeter
in the yarrow
showing we can be moonless
and shining in wildflower
I know this timber
was once a house
my mother’s grandmother’s
mother’s hammer in hand
everything
throttling backward
toward me
through time
a timber roof
that has kept the frost
from coming in
and stinging my babies
we made that
for ourselves
I consider choosing
there are times
when it is a joy
to remember
I like to think about my people
drinking fresh buttermilk
from the chosen farms
of their other people
all of us gazing
back at the house
framed by our future knowing
filling up on fresh tomatoes
and after
maybe lying like the silk calf
in the deerwood and the aster
and never-ending
Excerpted from “Golden Ax” by Rio Cortez. Copyright 2022 by Rio Cortez. Published by arrangement with Penguin Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.
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