Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Sa-a Naraï

Frank S. Gordon

SO I heard it commanded,

On the edge of the mesa,

By the sitter on the mesa,

In the season of falling leaves:

Count thou, my son, the lights on South Star Trail;

Trust not time nor strength—they are twin liars;

On track of birth-dance the mourners wail—

The Tribe moves on—count thou the fires.

Beads, a few in falling rain; grains in desert sand;

The door of night swings wide—it will not close.

Still room for beads, dying hills for land;

The door is open—the Soul Trail glows.

I counted my sheep but not the bones;

A woman vows and goes her way;

Dust-wedded wealth—the desert owns—

Tomorrow smiles, while sad is yesterday.

Feast on wit and beauty—pendants of bone—

The eye-strings tie two souls today.

Fill the earthen bowl—fill jar of stone—

Tomorrow the empty socket fill with clay.

There weaves a frost-chain, bends a flower:

Youth blooms fresh—spring has not gone;

Winter gathers, gathers fruit of spring shower;

The frost-chain shakes—a soul moves on.

I saw a cripple, I saw a thief.

Go, hoe your corn with shoulder-blade of deer

Where blows a wind, there stirs a leaf;

A bone enghosts a hoe—greed your spear.

If Red Moccasin moans, who knows the way?

I am ashamed before that standing within me—

The spirit upward flies—it will not stay;

Follow soon, thou must, the Voice within thee.

Shagwakwa laughs—in black night sings—

Give me my mother’s bones—unto me, dreams!

A puff to the gods whither blue smoke wings—

Smoke now with me—soon the yellow line gleams.

Eat thy mother’s flesh—she is the corn:

Is there a stranger who is not thy brother?

The One Above sung life—lo, love was born!

Hast shared the gift of thy first mother?

A little puff—a little kernel—

The Tribe moves on—it will not stay.

A little play by the trail eternal—

A little puff—lo, the South Star Way …..

So I heard it chanted.