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When Swamps Were Full of Life and Water
A Poem
Every day in spring the little frogs sing proclaiming that Akohsera’kene sleeps, and they are happy to be alive. They peep and peep to their little heart’s content in a chorus of trippy notes that reminds us of days when swamps were full, and the warm enveloping fragrances of muck and rushes were clean against our bare ankles. When the delicate smells oozed as the earth warmed and lifted our spirits to run, to explore and to put to:tis in baby food jars with no seal and swamps were full of life and water.
Tekah’hon calls, its long neck stretched and bobbing with the sound of bittern music. We sat and waited and watched its beak to see the next tsikera’tahniaks speared for breakfast. No plates or forks just jiggling swallows until the wriggling stilled and Tekah’hon called for another. Our feet in the muck were stuck as it walked right by as if we were not there. Then it flew and we sighed with relief amazed at the gift we were given. Each day ne kenhkwitene we played in swamps full of life and water.
Now the swamps are dryly dying of toxic oils from discarded tubs of illegal dumping by those too lazy to take care. The muck, no longer brown, tracks in…
