BY SHERMAN ALEXIE
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after an Indian woman puts her shoulder to the Grand Coulee Dam
and topples it.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after the floodwaters burst each successive dam
downriver from the Grand Coulee.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after the floodwaters find their way to the mouth of the Columbia River
as it enters the Pacific and causes all of it to rise.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after the first drop of floodwater is swallowed
by that salmon waiting in the Pacific.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after that salmon swims upstream, through the mouth of the Columbia
and then past the flooded cities, broken dams and abandoned reactors
of Hanford.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after that salmon swims through the mouth of the Spokane River
as it meets the Columbia, then upstream, until it arrives
in the shallows of a secret bay on the reservation where I wait alone.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after that salmon leaps into the night air above the water, throws
a lightning bolt at the brush near my feet, and starts the fire
which will lead all of the lost Indians home.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
after we Indians have gathered around the fire with that salmon
who has three stories it must tell before sunrise:
one story will teach us how to pray;
another story will make us laugh for hours;
the third story will give us reason to dance.
I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall
when I am dancing with my tribe
during the powwow at the end of the world.
