©John Teschky

Always, Grandfather, on these winter nights
when the sun shines as brightly as on the day of our meeting,
when the chert shard cold stings my skin,
when the settled snow protects the land like a white buffalo pelt,
I scratch your tipi door,
bringing your night's firewood,
placing it
lightly,
freely
on your left,
honoring you
for sharing with me your passions.

Always, Grandfather, on these spring nights,
when the sun shines as brightly as on the day of our meeting,
when the iceworms streak through thawing rivers like life through my sinews
when the thunder trumpets the gods return from their winter home
I scratch your tipi door,
bringing you my winter's trapping,
placing the warm, tanned pelts
lightly,
freely
on your left,
honoring you
for sharing with me your kindness.

Always, Grandfather, on these summer nights
when the sun shines as brightly as on the day of our meeting,
when the heat bakes the trails hard,
when the sun coaxes the red to show in my skin
I scratch your tipi door
bringing you sweetgrass
placing the cool, soft bedding
lightly,
freely
on your left
honoring you
for sharing with me your wisdom.

Always, Grandfather, on these autumn nights
when the sun shines as brightly as on the day of our meeting,
when crisp leaves fall like the days I let pass without visiting,
when the Indian Summer morning mist hovers like smoke from your calumet,
I scratch your tipi door
bringing you the harvest
placing it lightly,
freely,
on your left,
honoring you in everything I create
for showing me how to create myself.


John Teschky, 26 December 2002