He closed his eyes, then breathed in deeply as he sighed;
the scent of salty seas invading senses–
long ago denied.
What message had the Spirits of his people to impart?
His mind wandered…waiting…
Was that sound the sea-gulls screeching loudly in the sky?
Not from any memory of his did he recall…but then–
could it be the sound of eagles so far distant as to fall
upon his hearing, gently reminiscing days that fly,
in ever spinning eons passing by.
With eyes still closed; did he hear wings? Or fins of fish
that leap out of the waters, gasping wide,
relinquishing their freedom to the ever-spawning tide.
He listened to the sounds of life abounding all around…
he frowned, his heart sore—stricken to the core
knowing this reality
was, in its entirety, a time so long before…
… the white man.
Then suddenly ‘twas clear, the reason he was here
brought before the spirits on his own.
Up on the mountain high, with the eagles in the sky
brought together some normality
of family and home.
His eyes, eager now to open
as the breeze, bringing far-off laughter that in turn
would lift his lips…
he traced with fingertips—then suddenly he realized—
that everything he had despised had made him now the man he had become.
He’d turned what was, into what is–
He opened up his eyes.
© 2019, Sandra Stoner-Mitchell. All rights reserved.