My Brothers

BY YUSEF KOMUNYAKAA

You came by woven reed boats

            forced across angry water

            driven by mighty winds.

Or a swift long skiff ferried you

            here by twenty-four oarsmen,

            twelve on each side, six front

& rear, powered by the rotation

            of two shifts, all twenty-four

            who tugged along dreamwork

on waves. They rowed around

            sun & moon setting & rising,

            inhale & exhale, all as one

song of the whole crew rotating,

            pushing ahead until they saw

            green land, their oars parting

blue rhythms of what’s to come

            or being born on the other side

            of the world. Yes, my brothers,

you of bittersweet herbs & chants

            taken in sea breeze, what secrets

            & taboos, myths, laws, & oaths

did you bring here? I believe it was

            your laughing, thundering voices

            in the drums. Where did you hide

those days of wild cats, serpents,

            & plots? Did you arrive out of

            nowhere, always here, stout

& tall, hewn of stone miles away,

            but now rooted into green earth?

            Mystery how you rose or sprung

up, somehow you became almost

            another people, calling windswept

            sea waves at your strong backs.

If you were always here, brothers,

            you wouldn’t have danced feet

            bloody under a full moon. No,

the charts were blue-black skies,

            but not to worship hidden icons

            before & beyond, & you cannot