from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon
In the back of my skull is a knot.
A knuckle-like knob where the skull is fused.
Dog owners sometimes say: smart bump, wisdom node.
A scientist of the veterinarian variety might say:
occipital protuberance; an armored spur
to protect the part of the brain responsible for vision.
Some of the old medicine people of the woodlands,
the islands, and back behind the mesas out West,
tell how an invisible cord comes out of the knot
and links wolves to ravens
wolf people to wolf people
wolf people to fox people
wolf people to raven people.
Sounds crazy to most white folks, I know,
but the wisdom-people of hidden earth
have long known that some two-leggeds
evolved from wolves and bears and feathered ones.
I've only met two other two-leggeds who had a medicine knot.
One woman was a jaguar.
The other shapeshifted into a fox at night.
I was too practical then; wasn’t prepared for all their visions.
Onward I went, me and my occiput.
But now, I must admit, every time I meet
I’m tempted to reach back
or bend low
and check the back of their skull
to see if we’re relatives.
(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com