Dusty Memories by Joseph Begay

Dusty Memories

By Joseph Begay

Sometimes walking helps.

It stretches my mind.

I think about the old people.

White haired and frail.


Wrinkled faces with dark eyes.

“Do not forget us,” they say.

I remember a hawk crying out,

A rabbit running scared,

A coyote yipping to his kin

But mostly I remember the songs,

The drums, the sweats

Where men pound the earth

To say “We’re here, this is our land.”

It’s best if it rains a little

Then walking among shadows

Smelling sage and cedar

Burns me down to embers

When only a little flame remains

Of whatever bothers me,

The center of me is tied

To my people,

My land,

My home.


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