circle

poem about a nomadic people

circle


banded round together
looking into the eyes and over the shoulder
of every brother sister ,nieghbor
large enough to watch all directions
we keep each other safe
in the center
we do live
cook and bathe and rest
play with a heartful of noise and laughter
and work and hope that we do learn
pass that knowledge on
with pride that we are sacred
full of smaller circles
it only takes four hands to make a perfect circle
and every thing starts again
watch the eyes for light
over the shoulder for danger
make the space a haven
for any thing needed and all that is ours
including the innocent giggles of very young children
or the flatulence of very old women
that is how we grow
and the circle becomes a band
we keep in our belly
what we know is ours only
aware some others consider it pestiluence
but they are not banded
are they