Baling Hay
by Emmett Smith
THE Redwinged Summer blackbirds sweep low over our July hay wagon half piled up now in Blue Earth County over halfway through the year,
and the midafternoon curses, itch and sweat bring thought to me,
of black December so soon on us now,
and the red and yellow blaze in my black iron kitchen woodrange,
snug and dark and warm in there at night in Winter where the baby Jesus weeps,
then sleeps.
[Emmett R Smith all text-rights reserved & all other rights revert to holders 12 July 2009]
What a handsome boy HE is! His wing blazes really are like blazes either on a hilltop or through a stove door. The Hidatsa tell Magpie-Redwing Blackbird stories in which Magpie is a tool and then RB overdoes it and burns down the sweat lodge, that’s not quite how it goes of course. It’s a secret. The old people say that the whites wanted “real” Indian stories, so the elders had a big do and made up a bunch and that’s how that went. It was the first time those Indians had ever managed to work together since The Beginning and of course it was too late by then, but the joke is still on the professors.