Huckleberry Whistles

three poems about my grandmother

---

Huckleberry Whistles


Some nights, as I fall
asleep, I hear
my grandmother

whistling and singing
to let the bears know
that humans are travelling

through the thickets
to pick huckleberries.
Some nights, as I fall

asleep, I can taste
huckleberries. I can
taste all the sweetness

that we grandchildren
carried back home
from the wilderness.

---

Storyteller


While the other Indian
kids played outside,
I often sat beneath

the kitchen table
and listened
to my grandmother

telling the old stories
with five or six other
grandmothers.

They often spoke
in the tribal language
so I didn't know 

exactly what
they were saying
but I could follow

the narrative
of their laughter,
curses, and mumurs

of empathy.
Sometimes, stories
are made only 

of sound. Sometimes, 
the most sacred
spaces are those

that exist
between words.
Sometimes,

my grandmother
would command me
to leave the kitchen

and go outside
to play with the other
Indian kids. I think

she wanted
me to learn
that you can't tell

your own stories
if you haven't 
participated

in your own life.
I think she wanted
me to learn

that you can't tell
stories about 
the world if

you haven't
experienced all
of the world's 

sorrows,
boredoms,
and glories.

I think, more
than anything,
that she wanted

to teach me
that stories
are meant to be

lived.

---

Beadwork


My grandmother's house
smelled like smoked salmon

and buckskin. If you went
barefoot, you'd step on beads

all the time. Sometimes,
you'd have to sit to remove

the five or six beads stuck
to your sole then drop them

into the glass jar sitting
on the bookshelf. One day,

for reasons I don't understand,
I ran outside with that jar,

grabbing handfuls of beads,
and flung them all over the yard.

My grandmother wasn't angry.
She knew on my first hour

in the world that I'd always be
the oddest one. She said so.

My grandmother died 44 years ago
but I assume that some

of those beads are still lying
in the dirt around her house.

And I like to imagine that other
beads have been used

by birds and insects to build their
nests and hives. I like to imagine

that a few of those beads have grown
from seeds into trees. I like

to imagine that the pines towering
over my grandmother's home

are also her grandchildren. I like
to imagine they wrote this poem.