Benjamin Lake

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I almost drown there.
Others did drown.
But nobody swims
That water anymore.

Reclaimed by aquatic
Plants and dragonflies,
The lake is stagnant
And iridescent. Or so

My sisters tell me.
I haven’t stood
On that shoreline
For decades. 

Sometimes, it feels
Like my reservation
Heart has become
The lake—unclaimed,

Overgrown, forgotten
By the children
Of the children
Of the children

Who grew up
With me. I escaped
From my reservation
Forty-one years ago.

But, sometimes,
I wonder if I’ll
Eventually return
And be that Indian

Elder who sits
In a folding chair
At every powwow
And celebrates

What used to be
And what has become.