Sarah Swifthawk

Sara Swifthawk in faded brown moccasins
walks three miles to Oljato trading post
--Place of the Moonlight Water.
The frost is heavy the cold bites,
her turquoise and silver jewelry is to be pawned for food.
Sara Swift hawk, jet hair sprinkled with white,
face a network of wrinkles, needs food more than fuel.

The trader smiles kindly as he gives her
canned peaches and beans.
Sara walks home slowly.
She builds a fire of pinon logs,
puts on a kettle of beans to cook,
then settles down in a warm blanket.

Sara Swifthawk passes into a dream world
bright with desert flowers that lift the heart and spirit.
When she was young, she herded sheep in canyons and mesas.
She danced the squaw dance with young men who gave her money.
She rode her palomino pony to sings where she was allowed to chant.
Sam Begay, Sara's husband, married into her clan of many waters.
She gave birth to three children; all of whom

have left the reservation.

Sam Begay died some years ago of the hanta virus sickness.
Now, Sara Swifthawk lives by herself.
She gathers yucca with which to wash her hair.
She weaves colorful rugs to sell.
The harshness of winter has surrounded her.
Sara Swifthawk is too weak to gather more wood.
Sara now in her dream, rides her pony across an arroyo.
She hears the desert owl, small and lively in his cactus nest.
The cold wraps around her,
She is spirited away.

(c)Elizabeth Urquhart                   2009

published in The Poet's Domain, Vol 25

Live Wire Press, Charlottesville, VA