Nia Francisco
- My grandmother, my Nali
she always made us herd
our sheep and goats
before the sun rose high
over the highest mountain peak
- We herd them towards
- the mountain slopes
- Cool summer mornings
- birds chirping
- goats nibbling at leaves
- along our trail
- My grandfather
he would hitch the dark horses- to his working wagon
- I remember the dark horses
- they were his best working team
- They haul wood drag timber for him
- He named one horse Bidi
and the other Liil'zhiin
- Some summer morning
My nali man he would hitch them
and say we are going to lumber jack- up there in the mountain
where the pines are tall and straight
- up there in the mountain
- Those mornings
my grandmother she gathers
her pots and the food
- Our grandparents would designate
where they would be
and we'd herd to that place
when we're getting close
grandfather's steady chopping
echoed into the mountains
- When we're getting close
- the smell of the spicy aroma
of onions and potatoes frying
and in the distance- the cooking fire
would welcome us
- the cooking fire
- My grandmother patting out
- goatmilk bread over red hot coal
- My grandfather he'd be sharpening
- his axe sitting on pine needles
in the lacy shadow of oak leaves- and blue spruce trees
- his axe sitting on pine needles
- the smell of the spicy aroma
- there beside him
he'd have several feet of pine bark
He'd diligently scrape the thin white- lining of the pine tree bark
- and give it to me to chew on
- the sinew like strings
tasted sweet
I'd chew it herding home
walking behind- the slowest ewes
- I'd chew until I fell asleep at twilight
From Blue Horses for Navajo Women by Nia Francisco, Greenfield Review Press.
© 1988 Nia Francisco
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