Free Clay Pots and Bones by Lindsay Marshall Page A

year.”
    â€œSuit yourself.”
    All alone now except for flying windows
    patiently awaiting tasks and demands.

Our Hearts Were Beating One With Their Drum
    They were drumming for the one
    we were mourning.
    A walk with my son from
    our talk, our sharing,
    Our pain.
    We saw the brightest
    star. We knew who,
    our burden less.
    All alone except for our pain.
    the blue-black night,
    and the drum.
    We both heard it, music for
    two battered hearts walking as one.
    It began to change us.
    Our hearts were beating
    one with their drum,
    healing.
    They were drumming for the one
    we were mourning.
    We heard them give their hearts
    to the drum for their friend,
    for our boy, cousin, Godson.
    The days are better now,
    moments of silence.
    Our hearts were beating
    one with their drum.
    They were drumming for the one
    we were mourning.

Dreams Not Wanted
    Who are you?
    Chief
    Poet
    Man
    Father
    Husband
    Son
    Brother
    Relation
    Friend
    Connection
    similar to the silky strands of a spider’s web
    capturing light and sustenance, keeping out
    dreams not wanted.

A Work in Progress
    Snowflakes, as white as
    can be, fall easily,
    melting upon contact
    with the open palm of
    my outstretched hand.
    I raise it to the heavens
    as an offering, a sacrifice
    to the silent descending
    pure grace.
    The artist from afar
    dispenses the solitary
    colour as if to shroud
    one of Vincent’s starry nights.
    My gauche hand feels lighter,
    allowing it to rise higher
    as the vapour from my breath
    slowly ascends and drifts
    aimlessly away from
    my moment of tribute.
    The severed reminder,
    complaints of phantom pain,
    nothing.
    Flesh versus steel,
    steel wins. Flesh loses
    to the gods of tomorrow.
    All arrangements complete,
    the service at sunrise
    for a nail, a bone, a scrap of flesh.
    And the eulogy,
    a work in progress.

Dance Along the Ghost Highway
(Translation)
    The fire warms and comforts him.
    fixing his gaze.
    They call him
    the Old One Who Knows,
    the young men
    whose hair is black as night.
    while his a reminder of a winter
    that is never far away.
    The fire leaps,
    throwing sparks
    into the moonless night.
    All is ready for stories,
    the gift of past ones
    who dance along the ghost highway.
    They light the pipe,
    and tobacco smoke
    clouds each man’s face
    like the morning fog
    as it rises from the lake.
    He remembers as a boy
    how he would sit
    as quiet as a shadow
    listening to the Old Ones
    recount hunts, hungers and wars.
    Now the stories are ready.
    He knows those
    who sit with him tonight
    will remember.
    He is slow to start,
    slow to eat
    and slow to move.
    Finally, with the voice of thunder
    he begins to weave a story
    from a fire pit
    long forgotten.
    Under these stars
    that seem to dance
    in rhythm with his voice,
    the time is right.

Skite’kemrujewey Awti
    Kisikuo’p elisink kikjuk puktewiktuk,
    Puktew tele’k kutey mimajikek,
    ke’s puksuk pijekemk te’s wnaqiaq,
    kutey kloquejk alayjita’jik,
    aqq mikwite’tk ta’n tuju
    nutqwe’kek i’tla’tekes,
    l’pa’tu’jijuijek nekm mikwite’tmajik
    kisiku’k eloqisultijik kikjiw puktukewiktuk,
    kikto’qipultijik, kikto’qamkipultijik,
    aknutma’tijik.
    Msit wen a’tukwet aqq kwetmtijik,
    tmaweyey wtlu’tew alayja’sik
    msit tami wsiskuk kutey
    eksitpu’kewey u’n ke’sk kwetmaj,
    jiksitmawet, jiksitk a’tukwaqn.
    Ankite’tk, poqji mikwite’tkl a’tukwaqnn,
    poqji ankite’tkl kisiku’k wtayjual,
    ankite’tk a’tukwaqn ta’n tewije’k,
    wen aqsutkis, wen mawtmk telues,
    poqji ankite’tk ta’sisni’k kisiku’k
    kikto’qi pemkopultijik puktewiktuk
    aqq weskewo’ltijik.
    Tal lukutisni’k etuk na’kwek,
    waisisk al’kwilua’tijik,
    al’kwilmu’tij ta’n i’taq aqq msit
    tami elapa’sin oqnitpa’q
    aqq kejia’tiji skite’kmujk eymu’tijik.
    Na kisikuo’p