This Blackfeet Dad of Mine

4/28/82
For Toni: Browning, MT

The old people are out there…
Yes they are,
There in the Heart Butte Mountains and beyond
And he know them well,
This Blackfeet dad of mine.
He talks with them
and they listen,
And I know that
because I hear them talking, too…
Some might think it is the wind,
or the low flying, spitting clouds,
Or the thunder
of rolling mountain storms,
Or the owls at night
reveling in a coyote’s fright,
Or a thousand other sounds and sights…
But it is the old people
talking Indian
To this Blackfeet dad of mine.

There is happiness in him,
like in the shad of a cottonwood tree,
Like in the good sun, the kind sun,
like in the hunter’s song,
The wolf song,
this Blackfeet dad of mine.

There may be more famous men,
or richer men,
Or even better educated, too,
and there may even be some
With a more raggedy coat than his,
but there is no accounting
For his amounting,
‘Cause he can talk with the old people…
his way of praying,
And know what the spirts are saying,
and that’s Blackfeet dad of mine,
this quiet man,
This good man,
this tough, stringy,
Soul searching, dark-eyed
Blackfeet dad of mine.