Drums
by Weeping Skye, 3-11-7

And they destroyed our sacred drums!!!

Resentment builds inside. I taste the bitterness. Sparked by the music, and fueled by the stories of times long since past. I breathe…short quick breaths. Anger swells to the point of near eruption. I turn and see Ah-po.

Ah-po, or Grandmother, as some of the grandchildren call her, is sitting, quiet, almost absorbed by the music on stage. Her peaceful presence soothes my soul. I breathe a deep sigh. I feel the music…their music…their drums!!! NO!!! I didn’t want to come here in the first place, but I promised, for her birthday

I must come up with an excuse to leave. Turning toward Ah-po, I see her head is bowed. I know she is praying. Praying for me.

She says she prays for me every day. I know she does, but I wish sometimes she would forget. She never forgets. Their music called her when she was just a little girl. White missionaries came to our rez and preached a white man’s religion and brought white man’s music. “One day” she says, “the music will call your name and you must answer.”

I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “I love you Ah-po” but not today. I will not answer today. The drums of yesterdays past still beat in my heart.

I look back one last time, tears roll off her cheeks to the tattered pages of her Bible.
Thump…thump…thump. Drums…drums…drums.