Poet Warrior

by Joy Harjo

There you are, voice, said Poet Warrior as she began Writing poetry because there was no other way to speak. It was unlike any voice from within her. It wasn’t her little girl voice, or the defensive Teenage girl voice. Or the tamped down so I don’t get hurt voice. Or the leave me alone voice. She didn’t know this voice at first. She watched it emerge from afar. Admiring it and at once fearful of it. It was a red bird on a branch of wind. It was a whirling rainbow In the hand of a child. It was a trail of ancestors, walking and on horseback Approaching and crossing A raincloud in ever changing light. Where did you come from, she asked the voice? If you follow me, said the voice, without words You will know where I came from, who I am And where I am going in a time made of willow branches. And the voice kept going, and Poet Warrior kept following no matter Her restless life in the chaos of the story field.