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Wartime Heart
by Rita Unger
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Waiting for the Dawn
by Sheri Watson
I never tasted the frybread
that floated across the air
like our breath
of holiness
I never saw stories
that edged across their faces
like ancestor’s moans
at my travesty
I never knew the fourth world
that haunted my mind
like water in the desert
to bloom one thought
for one day
Yes, I might be Navajo
Instead, I ride the wild horses
White, for east, for the beginning
Blue, for south, for traveling
Yellow, for west, for farewell
Black, for north, the unknown
And as the day winds down,
I move like a ghost to the west
and you are with me like a second skin.
With your hoof,
with your leg,
I ask you to dance,
cross-legged like the men of the hogan
waiting for the glow of dawn
For, in the smoky haze,
I could swear I hear your hoofbeat
drumming Mother, Mother
all that I am not.
I greet you, Grandfather Sky
I greet you, Grandmother Earth
I bow to you, stone people
I bow to you, tree people
I cradle you, my animal people
For I am truly asking
who I am
when I see the shadow
of the blue horse
turning to the west
leaving me behind
to wait for the house of dawn.
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