What the Grandfather Said

What The Grandfather Said

To the People Lost to Us

White smoke rises, south side of winter lake

Where children died of fever they brought us.

The paths we took to Pennacook, Pegouakki

Blocked by stone walls, crossed by wheeled

Wagons, we cannot bring the ancient bones

To the sacred mounds at Ossipee in summer,

To the great gatherings, cannot sit by the fire

Cannot remember them chanting their songs

Making one again the hoop broken now twelve

Generations. Thousands of fathers and mothers

Wait in the mounds for our return, for their just

Remembering, but too many golf carts crossing.

To the People Lost to Themselves

You punk distracted eternal juveniles don’t care

About grandfathers unless you need a meal and

Grandmother is cooking, it’s all about hip and

Can’t be still not really being here at all, zipless

Fucks acting cool stoners and posers, some god

You ramble on about when you don’t have two

Dimes to rub together, shuffle instead of walk

Pants down your ass some kind of prisoner cool

You want to be a prisoner that’s your choice and

So is your wired up rattling empty box of a life.

Shut up sit here pay attention to the host of your

Relations gathering around begging to be seen.