Poetry Monday: Winter

Skeleton of Winter

 These winter days

 I’ve remained silent

 as a whiteman’s watch

 keeping time

                    an old bone

 empty as a fish skeleton

 at low tide.

 It is almost too dark

                    for vision

 these ebony mornings

 but there is still memory,

 the other-sight

 and still I see.

 Rabbits get torn under

 cars that travel at night

 but come out the other

 side, not bruised 

breathing soft

 like no fear.

 And sound is light, is

 movement. The sun revolves

 and sings. 

 There are still ancient

 symbols

             alive

 I did dance with the prehistoric horses

 years and births later

 near a cave wall

 late winter.

 A tooth-hard rocking

 in my belly comes back,

 something echoes

 all forgotten dreams

                   in winter. 

 I am memory alive

                    not just a name

 but an intricate part

 of this web of motion,

 meaning: earth, sky, stars circling

 my heart

                   centrifugal.

-- Joy Harjo