Alk’idaa’ jini. Sitting alone in neither day or night
I am called Alse Hastiin, First Man
Sitting alone in neither despair or hope
I am part being, part nothing, part man, part alive
Outside someone had escaped their dark world
He ran with awkward steps away from the officer’s heels
Which sounded like dull spurs.
With a slurred speech, he yelled--
“It was magic that set me free! Magic! Magic!”
The sound of breaking beer bottles also ran
With the night wind, who whispered this story to me.
In the far reaches of my mind, Thought Woman appeared
She spoke and I thought. . .
I wondered if the cop caught the wino
She spoke and I thought. . .
I hope he didn’t, I don’t need no company tonight
This cell
which has no people of furry animals
It is the First World again
This cell
which has no sun, moon or stars
It is the Black World again
First Woman lives here
She is trying to build a fire
Made of turquoise and coral logs
To guide me home
But I can’t see any fires to lead me back
Earlier I saw a star made of shiny cheap brass
It shone bright from the captured lightning
In the ceiling, tamed and broken like a painted war pony,
The lights buzzed with a soft purr
The star was pinned to Dan Begay’s pressed blue uniform,
The tribal officer walked the hallowed barred halls
Where he inspected other drunks and some wife-beaters
In the Navajo Tribe’s jail in Tuba City.
Then he commanded the cells to become the First World:
“Lights Out!”
The Mist People live here
I can’t see their bodies made
Of singing water in this dark
The lights went out as fast as lightning could run
Dan Begay’s voice was like Spider Woman’s own power of creation
She wove storm rugs together with long strands
Made of time, dark clouds, rain, mud, and thunder
When each rug was done, it was as beautiful as
The storm’s last drops summoning the Rainbow Priest’s blessings
But it also meant that someone was complete
So we die
The cornfields yellow
Someone’s grandfather falls into a deep sleep
The wind ceases to blow
An elk steps onto the Interstate
And it all becomes dark again. . .
The Insect People live here
I can feel her sharp steps
A black widow climbs
The length of my brown chest
I touched the cold cell wall and tried to scratch my way through
Into the next world, the Blue World, like Locust did
Locust freed the beings from the darkness by digging his way through
The different layers of sky, to the world where all birds exist. . .
Swallows, Crows, Macaws, Roadrunners, Penguins, Turkeys. . .
The tribal cop caught me driving a car in this world
Unknown to me, I was weaving the road like a swimming salmon
I was drinking cold beer
I didn’t have a license
I didn’t know who I was
I was drinking hot wine
And the tribal cop sent me back to the Underworld--
Why did I do this?
As Alse Hastiin, they didn’t know who I was
They forgot where they came from, they forgot their language
Now I sit among the taste of urine, vomit and whiskey mints
After each story told, Grandma Spider Woman
Always warned me to never forget, remember and know. . .
She said a person without story isn’t a person at all
He is lost.
Dead men and dead women
Coyote lives here somewhere
Out there in the night, his tracks
Lead away from many quarrels
After the beings emerged from the First World
Coyote threw a rock into a deep lake
The beings watched it sink with a splash
And each ripple shook the beings’ anger more and more
The people were mad because of Coyote’s words:
"If the rock floats, people will live forever"
"If the rock sinks, people will die. . ."
© 1996 by Hershman John.
All rights reserved. No reproduction permitted
without the express permission of the author.
First printed version, Hayden Ferry Review, Spring 1998
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