First Mountain

By Paulette Dubé

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Step One
find something big
to pit against, to throw loneliness into
shadow yourself safe
moss, moth, hummingbird and me
the precious, the most tender, the delicate of design

we live here
now
amid snow and stone

Step Two
this one is quiet
asleep in the basket moon
halfway between earth and sky
clear as water singing through my fingers

Step Three
safe on the high bank of a rushing bronze green river
I loosen my skin with crow feather, sage and spiderweb
the sun rises then
from the Four Directions Gates
come the colours
rattling buffalo skulls behind them
ribbons of children stream along
all born this day

Step Four
today is squeezed of soft things
pummelled by needful doings
things of men
cement claw end of a hammer
glare sun squinting eyes, clocks, dead grass, the smell of carrots
ragged holes, knees, nails, sperm
a sharp spice of rough hair along my arms peeling paint
slivers of old steel, dust, rust and rot

Step Five
dawn shawl of Raven’s rose
smells pale dandelion heart and dirt

there is a calm here
a liquid light everywhere
no creeping or spilling
as winter’s want through cracks of darkness

this light simply begins
accepts
rain lays down a simple miracle

Step Six
Loon fills the space of small hours as nothing else can
quickens one’s step to the window
to the edge of the porch, half asleep still

to see one, a rare thing
to hear one, a sharp reminder
that life begins beyond the eye

new moon, new knowledge of weather divination
our carpenter’s father told him
the first week of the declining moon foretells the weather for the month

there was blood shed
soft hands grew hard
muscles stretched and screamed, dreamed new shapes
water appeared in all her poses
soft fir porch planked beneath my feet
my son says it smells like perfume and indeed
this battle, this day does have breath
and the weather will clear

Step Seven
today smells of smoke from the Standing Ones
fire is powerful here
everpresent and already tangy in my throat

Otter is about woman medicine
she visits me today and furs my legs
grown muscular from climbing, bending and stretching over and over again
she insists I play and be serious if the intent has honour
a woman’s honour
her throat dignity
is one of the wonders of this world
we move planets with that power
we grow trees

Step Eight
today was born because I need to sweep
with a broom of sage and thyme
sweep as the sun rises through smoke-filled mountains and a hawk soars overhead

That hawk is a messenger, I told my husband
he smiled as he suckled blood from his torn knuckle

I kiss him and the man next door
came by to show me ten stitches he earned for his skull after a tumble on Indian Ridge
my fingers itched and burned to trace the bruise on his arm to his elbow
to soften the fire in his skull, on his face to help him stop trembling
I gave him the broom to hold while I got a glass of water and some peppermint

when I came back
they were singing a song about home

Step Nine
a day born with heat and high cirrus clouds
blazing sun ringed with rainbows
this one swings the gossamer ribbons of colour north and south
from which direction change comes

small animals scurry across shimmering landscape
water everywhere and nowhere

Step Ten
Owl was eating a nectarine
she stuck her tongue out at me
a fairly pink human-looking tongue from a barn owl’s moon face
her almond eyes unblinking
it is a sign I am sure of that

nothing you do is secret
nothing you think is quiet

you have been weighed
you have been measured
and you have been found

wanting

Step Eleven
does grace colour us all the same?
as love’s light falls on and over and misses
maple goes before aspen follows birch poplar grasses all manner of yellow
all softs of brown

while wolf willow holds stubborn to
sage green
copper and bronze coins high up in the trees
fall
to pay our weight
            our way through winter

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