Kiowa Song

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Kiowa Song

I was taught to hold my tongue,
not show my emotions.
My wife is a Queen
to treasure and protect,
at all cost to keep happy.
Shower her with love and gifts
no matter what it is.
Sorry sweetheart that’s a Kiowa man
Now let me say this….
When your man asks what you like,
you’re supposed to say what you like.
It is an insult to him when you don’t.
Its part of the taking care,
making her happy.
Part of the relationship.
The husband agreement.

I will never fall away from you.
I will love you until I die.
You will be what I see and think of when I take my last breath.

I saw you in a dream,
I did not touch you.
I felt your heartbeat and we were one.
You are what makes me live.
My heart, the blood that flows through my veins,
the air I breathe.
You are so beautiful.

That’s what I am going to say now….
I promise to cherish and worship you first.
Then I will love you forever ever and ever and ever
until infinity stops. Infinity doesn’t stop.
That’s going to be my love for you.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

This is most closely a translation from the original. It is also a compilation from personal letters.

___________________________

Tomorrow
(an Osage song)

I will forget
The sound of your voice
As you read to me,
The tightness and the way it catches
When you laugh hard.
That thick slur on your tongue when you drink,
Telling me you will love me forever.
Making me tell you again and again
That I am your wife.
That I would have your babies.

I cut my hair off in mourning.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

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Poem To My Grandmother

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Mixed media collage, me

Piecing together life
Pain
Joy
Smiles
Into amazing squares
Of faith and strength
Catching laughter
Binding tears
Placing them just so
Feather stitching chaos into order
Into your hoop
Go dreams of the people
Memories of family
Nations quilted into glorious hugs and well wishes
Sent across miles
Or just around the corner
Wrapped tightly
Safely shielded from the elements
Harshness of the world
History woven into each block
Every blanket containing pieces of you
Your wisdom
Reminding us who we are
Where we came from
In one of your blankets I saw chickens in a coop
another contained startstuffs and Heaven
I’ve seen wedding rings
A trail across Kansas
Even the path of a drunkard
I saw the blanket of Chiefs and
One men wrap up in to see Holy things
There was even one made by your Grandmother so long ago
When she was still little
Love in each stitch
Prayer in every thread
So much magic in each creation of your beautiful hands
I found my Grandmother
Her Grandmothers
Blowing in the breeze
Soaking in the sun
As this blanket was just hanging there.

© Melissa Fry Beasley 2006

Daddy

daddy poem
Not Sure Who Took Photo

Daddy

You are the hot oceanside sands slipping all too easily
Through my fragile fingers.
You are the tide rolling carelessly in, breaking,
Roaring back out into vastness.
You are the moments fleeing far too quickly now.
The child lost, indigenous vagabond, rebel without a cause.
It seems I possess no hour glass in which to contain you,
No bucket to carry you home.
No light, that you might see your path.
Cursed to endlessly roam,
You are the satellite in outer space.
It seems i’ve sailed the universe
Since last I saw your face.
You may be a free bird in your own mind,
I see a dandelion.
Soon some round faced child shall clumsily pluck you,
Close their hopeful wide eyes
Only to wish and blow
Sending you soaring through the atmosphere
With only the galaxy to hold you then.

© Melissa Fry Beasley 2003