Manhattan Manahatta Memories Poem by Greg Gaul

Upon asking a lone Lenape
what happened to their tribal home;
so soulful that he barely told me
the tragic tale of how it had gone.

The white man thought he coyly took it
a thing that he can't ever own.
It's lost and changed, cracked crooked
what will happen next, remains unknown.

Our sense of self, of our longhouse fires
this 'hilly island' turned to stone.
On that same old ground stands soaring spiers
where 'bow stave' hickories once were grown.

Like low blowing leaves in wisping winds
our spirits spun sorrows through the years.
There are too few left to tout the ends
to soothe away ancient father's fears.

We drew deepest strength from sweet silt soil
the same on which too many people stand.
When we try to reach, dream, climb 'n toil;
then roam high steel in the skies so grand.





Notes: 20 lines rhyme For centuries before the Dutch renamed Manahatta (Mannahatta) in Lenape language meaning 'hilly island', to Manhattan in the 1600s; this land had a rich Native American history. Today it is called New York City. The Lenape natives inhabited this area well before the 1500s. Europeans disadvantaged indigenous peoples as they hastened to turn tribal reservations into personal property for themselves. This is not a proud part of American history.
Copyright © Greg Gaul | Year Posted 2021