Buffalo Dancer

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved

Tiny feet shuffle amid the dusty red earth of the plaza
His moccasins so small and light they make no sound 

His kirtle a plain white towel, no sash yet earned
A single horn askew upon his head
Tied with a leather thong beneath his smooth baby's chin

Buffalo Dancer
More wish and dream than real 

In life his dance is broken
Waylaid by what he could not shake
No matter how hard and fast he danced
Amid the dusty red earth of the plaza

The heart seizes
With pain or also with joy, perhaps even he cannot yet tell
The rattles go silent with his breath

Buffalo Dancer
Now the wish, the dream belong to others

Now the elk for whom he was named comes visiting
It has a tale to tell, a story it brings from far up in the mountains
By a lake

It tells of a dancer
Strong, muscular, powerful
His kirtle now snow-white
He wears a sash the color of the dawn
And on his head, above two long jet braids
A matched pair of horns atop the shaggy mane

He drinks now only from the sacred water
As his rattles, like his moccasins, 
Speak the thunder and summon the rain
And in the sound, his voice whispers

Buffalo Dancer
I am with you








Copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved.