What Am I
Doing
Here?
I am definitely guilty of having hiked Yosemite, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Glacier, and Denali – among others – and being struck not only by the beauty of the land, but also by what I once thought was a most laudable act by our political leaders of yore: to set aside land for public enjoyment–without understanding the reality of what those sweeping acts meant.
Timbishu Shoshone
You say,
“Who are a people without a land?”
Your tears fall,
trapped between
revered soil
and the sole of our boots.
My knees buckle.
May I lay hands on this place
where you wept,
where tears seep and steep,
scattered in stones?
You say,
“We honored the water,”
remembering life
that flowed and fed your people
who lived
who loved
here.
May I weep with you?
May I weep
with the people without a land?
©2022 Patricia J. Franz
What Was I Doing Here?
The more I learn about the first people who called much of the United States their home, the more conflicted I am by the history and pain our national parks have inflicted on Native Americans, their tribes, and their cultures.
Last week, I visited Death Valley National Park for the first time. At the Visitor Center, I learned that the native Shoshone people of this area call it Timbishu and, like so many tribes in this country, were its earliest inhabitants prior to the arrival of non-natives.
I was stunned to learn that while the park encompasses over 3.4 million acres, the Timbishu Shoshone had to fight for years to be awarded a mere 7500 acres of trust lands in and around the park. You can read more about the Timbishu Shoshone here.
The only thing to ease my conscience (a bit) was a quote attributed to Pauline Esteves, an elder of the Timbishu tribe, in an article written by Alex Ross in The New Yorker (2016):
“’As long as they respect it,’ she said, ‘they needn’t worry. Respecting it means being attentive to the life that somehow flourishes there.’”
A small reprieve from my guilt, till I read this excerpt from the same article.
So, we did drive, stay, and hike in Death Valley. We admired its stark beauty. I also listened with intention to the first-person stories of the Timbishu that were recorded in the Visitor Center.
On our last morning in the park, having watched sunrise on top of the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes, we hiked into beautiful Mosaic Canyon. It was still early. There were only a couple of cars at the trailhead. Within a few tenths of a mile, we were scrambling up marbled rock and passing through twists and turns of a wind- and water-carved slot canyon. No one was around. About two miles in, when steep, narrow walls were unwilling to allow further passage, we turned around.
As we retraced our steps, somewhere along the way, a woman appeared in front of us. She wore her black silk hair in two bands along the back of her head. Dressed in dusty, frayed slacks and thin-soled shoes, she carried a woven backpack slung low behind her. And she moved fleetingly. We hike a fairly quick pace, and this woman was moving away from us. She stopped abruptly, perhaps knowing we were close behind her. She turned slightly, revealing the profile of a young girl, and I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
It may have been the morning light. It may have been my imagination. As we passed her, she turned her face to the marble wall and reverently touched her palm to it.
When we emerged from the slotted columns, I looked back. No one was there.
This poem is for her.
Molly Fisk is Poet Laureate of Nevada County — and I’m convinced she and I were in the same slot canyon, weeping different songs.
SINGING CANYON SONNET by Molly Fisk
I have to say something about the blue grasses by the side of the road,
the red rock rising behind them, a lacy kind of scrub juniper,
yellow-green in afternoon light, dotted here and there up the broken slope…
It’s #PoetryFriday!
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This week’s links are hosted by Amy at The Poem Farm.
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s newest book is IF THIS BIRD HAD POCKETS: A Poem in Your Pocket Day Celebration, illustrated by Emma Virjan and published by Wordsong.
Watch for Poem in Your Pocket Day 2022 to be celebrated on April 29th!
Patricia Franz writes picture books and poetry. She believes children, dogs, and sourdough have a lot to teach us about life, joy, and wonder. She has raised two boys, four dogs, and holds a master’s degree in Theology with a focus on children’s spirituality. Patricia, her husband, her Bernese Mountain dog, Bonny, and her sourdough starter split their time between the Arizona desert and the Sierra Nevada mountains. 
Beautiful words and thoughts, Patricia. “tears seep and steep scattered in stones”
Thank you for sharing the beauty of this place.
Your poem holds tears and love and honor, Patricia. Thank you for your honesty and love and for sharing your story and links here. We have a lot to be forgiven for, nd it is hard to know how to hold it. Thank you. xo
Beautiful, thought provoking and humbling.
So beautiful, both the words and the meaning. Thank you for sharing your gift!
I’ve never been, Patricia, & admire you for showing us both the beauty & the sorrow of your experience. It’s a poignant poem: “remembering life
that flowed and fed your people” is very touching.
Wow, this poem gave me chills. Thank you for sharing!
Wow. Thanks for this stunning shift in perspective.
Beautiful poem, beautiful post and your story of the woman on the path sent shivers (the good kind) down my spine. I recently had time to do an immersion with a local Noongar person on the campus where I work. I thought it was important to listen, but I forgot, till I was there, how much more than just listening is required. It was a moving experience, and has changed me.
Patricia, your poem captures that effort some are making to approach the truth about our historical treatment of indigenous people–thank you for the way you honor the land, the person you address, the effort. But even more I think I like your description of your encounter with the girl/woman. I think “Chemistry was happening.”
Thank you for this thoughtful and thought-provoking poem, and post. The last two lines gave me chills.
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing the story of the inspiration for the poem, too.
Moving poem and post Patricia, thanks for taking us there via your poem and commentary. Lots to ponder here and many things to change.