Pulling down the Clouds Poem by Ofelia Zepeda

Ñ-ku'ibadkaj ‘ant ‘an ols g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will hook the clouds.
‘Ant o'i-waññ'io k o ‘i-hudiñ g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will pull down the clouds.
Ñ-ku'ibadkaj ‘ant o ‘i-siho g cewagi.
With my harvesting stick I will stir the clouds.

With dreams of distant noise disturbing his sleep,
the smell of dirt, wet, for the first time in what seems like months.
The change in the molecules is sudden,
they enter the nasal cavity.

He contemplates that smell.
What is that smell?
It is rain.

Rain somewhere out in the desert.
Comforted in this knowledge he turns over
and continues his sleep.
dreams of women with harvesting sticks
raised towards the sky.

In memory of Barbara Lannan