My sister texts news from the rez— another elder has died. Pretty soon, my siblings and I will be tribal elders. Eventually, our deaths will be texted from Indian to Indian. And so I sing an honor song for our distant descendants— the ones who'll clean our graves. Eventually, they'll die and their descendants will clean their graves. This grave keeping will always happen because life doesn't end when life ends. O, Indians know how to take care of our dead.
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At the high school where I work, we had a student (graduated in June!) who went to Wellpinit and tidied your mama’s grave sometimes ☺️ She felt such a connection after reading some of your work.
Nice poem. Fyi for your interest. (English. i live in far east) Chinese custom has grave sweeping also. In Chinese its called Qing Ming and falls around Easter in the west.