Osha Root
1.
Bear could hear the annoying bells
of the hikers.
Raven had fallen in love again
and was nesting.
Bear was still mad at Coyote
who had offered to be
fire keeper for a sweat
he did with the Blackfeet.
No show.
Bear dug for osha root.
He smelled the pungent
camphor-like scent in the
aspen grove in Glacier.
He found the root and ate,
occasionally spitting on his fur
to keep the insects away.
It felt good to be at Glacier again,
to forget about bells sounding
and foul-smelling humans—
their tired streets,
their cruel self-righteous control—
using Earth as an ash tray.
He was content to be on all fours.
2.
At night Bear dreamed Ursa Major and Minor
into being and poured his generous medicine
to all in need.
3.
Bear heard and smelled the hunters.
They were not supposed to be here.
Their guns bellowed fire and killed a sister.
Young cubs wandered the forest crying.
4.
Bear came out of Glacier unwillingly.
Raven and Coyote harassed him
until he stood upright and
tucked hair under his hat.
“Unh, unh,” he muttered.
“Ha ha ha,” cackled Raven.
His long black hair in two braids fell on his chest.
“Why now?” Bear stammered slowly,
his eyes wild and dreaming.
“Easy, big fella,” whispered Coyote.
They always had to wait a while
when Bear went too far in.
Jason Grundstrom-Whitney’s poetry has appeared in 3 Nations Anthology: Native, Canadian, & New England Writers and in the Underground Writers Association’s Anthology of Maine Poets. The band Osha Root recently produced a CD featuring his music and poetry. Jason has spent a lifetime working on Native American Rights, Sexual Assault, and Domestic Violence survival, Hospice and end of life care, homeless and environmental issues, and alternative medicine practice, A Bear Clan member of the Passamaquoddy Tribe, Jason studied with native teachers and many others while he hitch-hiked across America for two and a half years. Jason is a father, grandfather, and husband, and he has been in recovery for 37 years.