| as
yellowstone's wintery subzeros cycle,
her stately buffalo stands
in frozen silhouette;
its warm breath condensing & exhaling
skyward in smoke-frosted signals.
vital reassurance from
bearded behemoths
to vigilant buffalo field campaigners
who lookout atop 30 foot tripods.
dedicated guardians,
with elevated visions that chill numb
in glum 1800's reminisce of times
when 65 million free roaming buffalo
followed instinct and
grazed unbordered lands.
frontier's lost, bygone era;
of verdant, shimmering abundance
when buffalo & tribal spirits flourished.
earth grounded, spiritual years;
long, long
ago
before the cowboys rode in.
armed and loaded
with their shoot 'em up cracker barrels
that stampeded millions
of native feet and hooves
across the great plains.
frontier's brutal years;
of intentional, intertwined annihilation
that blew out buffalo skulls
and tore out native american souls.
sweeping times of unearthly emptiness.
restocked with round 'em up visions
of steered plains and chattel
from their leathered and staked cattle.
still visible today
in a legacy that echoes out
with the rev and roar of agents
riding newfangled all terrain vehicles,
trucks, helicopters.
still out there, skimming the plains;
still out there, liquidating life;
still out there spilling ballistic bullets.
each fired shot reaffirming their belief
that hazed, branded buffalo
must pay the price
for the safeguard of healthy heifers.
or as so revered in their reviled,
reoccurring myth
of brucellosis transmission.
errie retrails that leave wayward,
extincting offspring in search of a way.
in search of hope and rebirth
in wild, natural, free lands.
in search of a destiny
when majestic buffalo hooves can
once again
deeply imprint into the subzero snows of yellowstone's cycles.
by
gael muramoto |
