Did you ever?

Did you ever?

Did you ever look to the sky, to the stars,
to the four directions, to the Earth your mother,
your ancestors, for answers, for guidance,
for the way to walk the right road?

Did you find your answers? Did you find a new way
with the white man’s religion or was it the only way
to keep you safe, protect your children?
Did it soothe your soul or save it? Was it really broken? 

Did you ever walk out of a revival, and gaze
at trees against the sunset, the indigo mountains,
and wonder what was missing in your life? 
Did your heartbeat remind you of drums in your distant past?

When your children asked why their skin was darker
than the other children in school, what did you tell them?
Did you tell them?  Did you ever think they might miss something
when they looked at the mountains, or in the mirror?

When your grandchildren asked if they were Cherokee,
did you tell them the truth?  Did you even know the truth?
Gloves and hats so not to tan, was this your idea? Your mother’s?
Was it taught to you out of fear of discovery, fear of not passing?

Sometimes I look to the sky, to the stars,
to the four directions, to the Earth my mother,
to my Creator, and to you, my other ancestors.  I look to you
for answers, for guidance, for the way to walk the right road?

But I think you forgot the old ways, and while I know
you found your own right road, I am left looking at mountains,
at the dark eyes in the mirror, at your picture, Great-grandmother,
and I wonder if you’ve found your answers, and if I will find mine.