Native Son
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Native Son

 Rita Simpson
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 Rita Simpson
Native Son
by Rita Simpson  FollowFollow
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Twenty years ago, Rita Simpson came to Calgary from Saskatchewan to attend a wedding, and was so taken with the mountains that she stayed. She...read more has been a closet writer since the second grade. She is primarily a prose writer, but through the influence of friends, she started writing poetry two years ago, and though she finds a lot of poetry pretty elusive, it nonetheless draws her like those mountains.
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Native Son
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I stand on hillside
listening
to the song
of brother coyote
of my ancestors

below me
river-sister winds her way
through the valley    my home
she flows
from the past
                     slides around me
into the future

dried golden grass
tickled by wind
dances around my feet
caresses my ankles

I have run barefoot here
since I was child
leapt over green plain
waded through murky creek
clambered   smoky hills
felt the pulse
of Mother Earth
through my soles

she has suckled me
with glacier water
nourished me
with the taste of the hunt
the scent of the pines

in the distance
new gods try to hammer
through ice-encrusted rock
of mist-covered mountains
enter our valley
plant their seeds

but for now
she keeps me well
my children
laugh and grow
I am warm at night
the cycles of
seasons and stars
never break

1 comments

Discussion

  3 months ago
I like the way past and present clash yet haps remains undefeated. The language is lyric, I liked the simplicity of your nature imagery.
 

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