Wall Mask

I am the mask of my people
I moved with the seasons
my brown weathered face tells a story.

My eyes are hollow now,
but I have seen plenty in my youth.

I have seen the ice breaking
and moved to higher ground
as the water floods my last resting place.

The caribou graze on the lichen
at the base of the blue-green hills.

The clouds hug the tip of the
snow covered mountain.

The ptarmigan changes from white to brown
as the sun stays in the sky most of the day. My gray wolf parka and sealskin boots
protect me as I walk across the open tundra.

My dark brown eyes squint against the blinding sun
to watch the brown bear fishing for salmon
in the Nushagak River.

My brown weathered face is
but now a mask
to live what has been
and unite with what is to come.

My eyes are hollow now
as I hang on your wall
since you are blind to my old ways,
but I have a story to tell
if you listen to what I have seen
through the mask of my people.