Running Eagle

What is it about waterfalls
that makes my soul forget where it belongs.

Some people say they roar
but that’s what lions do
or women
or steam engines
that roar “I’m here”
and shout defiance at what might seek to hold them back.

Why would a waterfall do that?

No. Falls are white noise
like SETI hears in radio static
or salt and pepper snow on old tv screens.
White noise like wind in mountain passes
skirling between stones
and screaming with a thousand voices.

This waterfall hisses like the others,
tumbling below Montana’s dwindling glaciers.
When Running Eagle walked here,
glaciers filled the mountain high places
before the white man
before metal
and global warming.

Her visions were of swift water
and swifter warriors
fierce joy returning after raids.
Her visions were of eagles flying,
grizzlies in the valleys,
and mountain goats on rock faces.

Before the white man
before metal
before death.

Poem by Annie Jadin, speakingvoiceless.wordpress.com.

The inspiration for this poem came from Running Eagle falls in Glacier National Park. Go here to read a little about its history.

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