there is a place shadowed
by ancient
reverent rock
her name is-
WeeMagooah
she watches this place
protects it
swallows it whole in a sea of sagebrush
pinon and juniper
since the beginning
it was home to early nomads
whose trails followed the buffalo
her heart pounds
Núu-agha-tʉ̱vʉ̱-pʉ̱
commonly known as, Ute
a people who spoke in nature's tongue
whose palms reflected the riverbeds
and hair the wings of ravens
whose babies were swaddled in soft leather
mothers' hands stained by serviceberries
and fathers returning on horseback
their hooves adding impression to compact desert
welcomed by harvests of dandelion root
amaranth and chokeberry
later elk hides would be traded for guns
and the people and their land would be parceled
the mesas still bleed red
she thinks,
these people knew me by name
sung me into being
I will always remember them
years went by
the land still remembering
the place welcomed early pioneers
who fed ash tree to wood stoves
and dug snaking channels for snowmelt
who planted apple orchards
and celebrated their fruits with succulent pies
or by singing the sweet into jars
painting the root cellar into a gem mine
she smiles,
this place has been home to many
to those with watchful eyes
and hungry hearts
today a place where the call of morning roosters
reverberate against pink limestone
and warm sourdough rises with the sun
a place where border collies chew on red afterbirth
and yellow warblers follow early frost
where mid-day hawks circle the north
and bellies compete with the fullness of the moon
where broth boils incessantly
and the kitchen swells with good cooking
drawing in the hungry
curious
and full
this place has been taken care of by gentle hands
earth held in the formation of prayer
souls laden with soil
whose bones sing with desert
and flesh cry with heat
she sings,
these are the people who heal
these are the people
who feed
