Chieftain Mist Breaker

Chieftain Mist Breaker

The bottom of the shaft
Of a spear
Hits the sand.

A foreign substance
To bare feet.

Beads around necks
And leather throngs
Of mothers and fathers
Where under their stern eyes
Designs were painted,
Same as on the sticks
That held their young ones.

Dragged behind
Their footsteps in mud
Were their shelters
All neatly bundled up
And caked with dirt.

Stopping now, they looked
Out to see.

Awestruck.

Some of them held pipes
While had stone axes or knives,
And the mothers and sisters
Held their children and siblings
As a chieftain looked
At an alien coastline.

Hookah smoke in
The back of the pack
Rose through
The brushline.

Strong men looked at
Their wives, with tribulations
Unresolved on mind.

A chieftain with his spear
And his headdress of feathers
In a brisker wind,
Redabbed the paint stripes
To his cheeks.

A chieftain looked over
The small dune, leading his people
Into a mythical alien shoreline
And stepping
Barefoot
Over driftwood.

The place of legend of
Which the tribe’s songs
Speak.

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