---

John Budan

Kalapuyans

They became exposed after the floodwaters receded in late January. Still attached to one of the skulls, long, braided hair embedded with multicolored beads. The other appears to have been that of a child. A flute fashioned from trade copper is wedged in the mouth and the metal has leached into the bone, giving it an eerie greenish patina. Loading all of the bones into a garbage bag. I think of the ancient Kalapuyans. How they called this month the time of the burning breast—the bitter cold forced the elderly to move so close to the fires, their skin became singed. How they fed the fires all winter, and how they gathered around them to chant their Spirit Power songs, to dance and give the Shaman strength until spring. I place the bag into a hole, which I slowly begin to fill. Tamping down the last of the earth, I wonder if their spirits are present. If they can ever be at rest.

ancient oak limbs
reaching for stars
she who watches

About the Author

John Budan is a former merchant seaman and retired R.N. He lives with his wife on a wildlife habitat near Newberg, Oregon.