Raven

Char and I are walking,
we follow old trails down behind the village.
We are telling each other stories,
like songs sung by old men in the longhouse.
Tales from the elders when Raven brought them here
where they would be safe and have berries to eat.
Char sings the ancient stories best,
her voice sends cold shivers through my heart.
Scary tales make me want to run back to the village,
but Char will not turn around.
She says this will be just a short walk  
to a bay where she hid a skiff when she came before.
She says we can’t go back, it’s too late now.
I hear rustling in the alder trees above us,
sounds of fluttering draw my eyes up. Raven is there
watching us walk through the forest.


Char says this is an omen,
Raven will make sure we never get lost.
I ask her, are we going very far?
Char is silent, her voice does not respond.
Her bare feet skip across rocks without leaving tracks.
She moves much faster than me, I cannot keep up.
The trail twists and turns. It disappears.
I look for Char’s back, but I find only silence.
I cannot stop walking because I will fall farther behind,
lost and alone in the rain forest.
I try to run, my clumsy sandals slide across roots.
I trip and lose my balance tumbling over falling leaves
somersaulting again and again until I am done.
I look up and I cannot see the sky. I cry out,
Raven… Char appears in a green mist to admonish me.
This is no time for foolishness, she says.


We must hurry or be too late.
I stand up, tearing leaves and twigs from my hair
complaining to Char. Please, wait for me.
Slippery roots and mossy rocks trip every step.
The narrow way is wet, sinking steeply into devil’s club.
I cannot grasp thorns for help; mud cakes my feet.
In front of me a fork in the trail appears.
Char has disappeared again; I call out to no one.
Equal silence descends left and right, dismay and dread
overwhelm my desire to catch up.
Wings flutter over me. Raven alights on a branch
beckoning me to hurry forward; I obey without question.


I look and see ripples in the forest; green water
leads me downward to a scattered rock strewn shore
where Char awaits me by her little wooden sailing skiff.
Hurry, she scolds; the tide is changing.
Char points to a painted wooden oar.
Sit on the far bench and row when I say. I want to ask
questions; I need honest answers from her.
Hurry, she yells. I clamber inside where she points.
With all her strength, Char thrusts us out into the current.
Streams of bubbles draw us rapidly toward a cleft
in the bank where waves and spray pile high,
smashing and crashing into an unknown dark abyss.
Row, she screams… I paddle as if the very devil himself
pursues us with fingers of death.
I am now far more afraid of Char than fierce
frothing water I am sure will swallow us whole. We rise
and fall on wicked waves, roller coasters of surprise
sweep our fragile craft past pinnacles of rock
twisting and turning, screaming and rowing till tears fall
just as we are flushed out safely into calm.


Red faced, Char lets out a rebel yell.
So, what did you think, she asks? I should be mad.
I want to ride the rapids again and again.
So I laugh and ask, why didn’t you tell me? Smiles
answer more than words. This was her promised surprise;
how could my cousin say anything about it first.
In the morning we can ride the tide inside,
she says. Dad will tow the skiff with his crab boat.  
Ride tidal rapids of Big Salt Marsh twice every day, eh?
I could not be any happier
if Raven landed on my shoulder. We row home
talking, singing and chanting; telling stories like old men
gathered in the Hydaburg longhouse for potlatch
where people meet in hope and friendship.
Raven led Tlingit people here like Raven led me to Char
and her summer surprise. Such is our life.