Susan Daniels Poetry

new world magic is different.
the Cherokee say when the earth was mud
risen from water, grandfather buzzard
sank valleys & lifted mountains
with his careless wings

& they told of a world under this one
whose people knew summers in our winters
and winters in our  summers
guessing at a sister hemisphere
but traveled to by swimming through the earth
by way of springs

myths are different here–no greenman
or fae, but spirits asleep in tree roots
or whispered in growing corn, waking
to run with deer, archetypes
owning coyote wisdom
& gifting peyote visions

there are no ladies of lakes here
but the water serpent Uncegila
spread salt into rivers.  when she died
her body dried into Badlands,
sprouting cactus & wind

this valley is an old place
to stand in, but no Tisayac walks here
to watch over her lover
even in winter, where wind bends
to whisper secrets &  snowsnakes
slip from trees to twist at my feet

speaking of the woman who fell from the sky
& her daughter, who loved the west wind
& died to become the mother of corn–
Iroquois stories familiar to this half-daughter
who hears voices when she forgets whiteness
& is sometimes bold enough

to answer.