there was a time
my ancestors say to me
late in the day
when the moon is low
the wind is sleeping
the sand ceases to move
of a time
when shut up
was never heard
we would bang our drums
sing until morning
or the singing was done
in this way our hands
reached back all the way
to those gone before
& then came
the time of shut up
we were not to talk
sing of these things
that connected us
to those who no longer
walk the day
& like the fire
before you now
growing colder
this is how they
burned us out
ended our culture