On roadside the river has stopped
The men of ax and saws
Some trees are around
I stopped.

A bird’s nest was set there
Straws hung to make

“PSST, hey you…”
I heard voice; got scared.
Looked around for the sound.
“Must’ve gone crazy” I told me.

But same sound:
“PSST, hey you…”
I wondered who could be! ! !

“I am an Iroquoian.”
Voice said and, I was shocked:
“We are of Huron-Wendat
Lived here for too long, until the mid-sixteens
First we fought among us; thanks to gun
Haudenosaunees kicked us out,
Then they too were caught with same trap.
Queens, kings grabbed lands.”

Voice stopped for a while and went on:
“They sold ours to other, like the poor Mennonites
We face our new foes,
Now we are spirits and wander all around.
Your dream was seeing and knowing
Elder saw and noticed; he told me
To come in your dreams…”

I listened, attentive; and birds sang
The leaves were an ensemble and played music
Water fell on the rocks; river sounded drum
I thought of my room’s wall’s Dream-catcher.

That was the nicest time; after long.

by Nassy Fesharaki

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