Beached Whale On The Indian Reservation Poem by Martina E. Elenbaas

That hot afternoon in Autumn
she came, as if gliding in
on the yielding waters.
She lay, mirrored
in the wet sand,
the sky threw cloud shadows
over her bulk.
She beached herself,
half out of the waves
vulnerable and alone.

She was quiet,
already half dead.
The people came
with skiffs and canoes.
She, one eye open
knew all of the sea,
the deep waters,
behind her, unreachable.
Her dying did not take long.

The tribe held watch
when the velvet darkness
spread like a blanket,
the people built fires
and chanted
songs of the sea,
to keep her Spirit happy.

When morning came
they carved her body
into pieces,
her red blood
made crimson rivulets
in the sand.
Great billowing clouds
rose from her,
she was still warm
in the early chill of morning.

We stood around her,
teb elders of the tribe
blessed her with songs
and tears.
They gave the people
small pieces of her flesh.
We ate her,
she tasted of seaweed
and eternity.