EDITOR’S NOTE: The free-verse poetry and essays of Lakota/Dakota elder Lois Red Elk are beloved by many who have followed her work over the years. Red Elk is making her debut at Yellowstonian with a regular column she has named “Inyan Zi Voices;” inyan zi means “yellow stone” in Lakota which we think, of course, is most appropriate. The poem below is among a collection of works that soon will appear in a forthcoming new volume. Making her home in the prairie town of Fort Peck, Montana not far from where the Mighty Missouri River forms the sea-like Fork Peck Reservoir, Red Elk has been a writing instructor at Fort Peck Community College and a local champion of welcoming Yellowstone bison that have been transported from the park to northern Montana, strengthening the foundation of a growing tribal herd. Over her long and colorful life, Red Elk has been an actress in Hollywood, a social justice activist, public radio talk show host in Pasadena, California and advocate who leaned on the film industry to actually cast indigenous people in indigenous acting roles rather than giving them to non-Indians. Lois has been ecstatic seeing the praise earned by Montana Blackfeet actress Lily Gladstone who earned an Academy Award nomination for her role in Killers of the Flower Moon. You’ll learn more about Lois in the months ahead. Meantime, enjoy this poem. —Yellowstonian
Dreaming Buffalo
By Lois Red Elk
It was chilly that night, a slight breath of river
began wandering across town where dry lawns
needed moisture settling in trees, on homes and
grass, creeping up the stairs, urging me to pull
blankets from the closet. Trying to curl up in the
folds of several quilts, icy limbs not moving, not
wanting to get up, I began searching for warmth.
Seeing the buffalo robe on the foot bench I pull it
over the bed, instant comfort for cold body. I relax
into deep sleep. Spirit rising begins drifting through
rooms, out the door, on to the grass, the night air.
At first a sound like kids driving by, car radio full
blast, a thumping from stereos that slowly faded
down the street. Then it came again, only this time
the volume was thundering and paced like horses
moving at a slow run back to the barn. Were kids
riding horseback at this hour? Moonlight filtering
through spaces above treetops, clouds drifted in
like familiar beings or spirits passing by. Wanting
to get closer, see this strange movement brought me
close to waking. No! I didn’t want this dream to stop.
Slowing heartbeat I carefully floated toward the sound,
the energy. Coming up the street eyes made out huge
lumbering shadows from some distant lands where
earth opened a space for buffalo needing to run, run
into a place where a dreaming one welcomed these
kind of spirits, where remembering ancient ritual
opened my mind. Their breath like river fog floated
over pacing shoulders, hooves a drum of their own.
This memory recognized their spirit voices coming
from a thousand years. Concrete and streets begin to
slowly crumble, houses and cars were pushed into the
distance, light poles fell away as buffalo pulsed from
one time into this age. Feeling my tongue go silent,
their deep voices echoed off the trees, “We are coming,
We are coming.” Inhaling deeply to absorb all the life
from vision, all the messages from voice, all the gifts
from song, all the healing from spirit, hands extended,
reached deeply into the dream, into that parallel world.
I closed my eyes, the sacred too much to bear. I bowed
my head, and in an ancient voice thanked the Gods below
for this portal opening in a forgotten place, a place the
ancestors said would awaken for the right moment. When
I opened my eyes the last of the four-legged entities were
drifting gently in the breath of accompanying fog. Mist
descending, quieted the street, relieved earth, returned
the dreamer to calm and left a new presence to live with.
©Lois Red Elk
