LEANING TOWARD THE LIGHT

(c)1998, 2013 Dean Metcalf

Look how far:

thermonuclear orange light leaps clear

of the sun, scoots 9 minutes

across the universe

to bounce now off Saturday’s

last clouds, fracture

into soft golds and greys, filter

past sparse October leaves

         across Front Street,

tilt through a vertical slit

in the window blinds, skip

a cool glance off a varnished

pool table rail, slide

these last few feet

into my retinas

like a softly-tapped

bank shot: 2 ball,

         side pocket.

The planet has turned today’s

final corner. As the last light leaves,

I notice for the first time

tension in the small of my back:

I have been tilting ever

         farther forward,

following the fleeing color

like some vertebrate houseflower

in a room with one window,

lamenting the leaving

of that which makes me green,

leaning toward the light.

Dean Metcalf

RED CHIEF, WHITE CHIEF

Red Chief, White Chief

     We were back at the TEA camp in early afternoon. My notebook has this 2:44 pm entry: "Gary Fife just came by from the creek: 'Somebody just hung out the Stars and Bars.'" I looked out from under the rolled up tent flap. A large Confederate flag was draped on the front of the mercenaries' tent. Gary "says he's descended from Stand Watie, a Cherokee who was the last Confederate general to surrender."

     Then Gary began to tell a story he'd heard from his people - I believe it was from the Cherokee side - about how the decision was made to go to war. He said he wasn't sure about the details, but that the tribe had two chiefs, a Red Chief and a White Chief. The Red Chief was the war chief, whose job was strictly military: once the tribe decided to go to war, he was supposed to make decisions that would bring success, and to lead the warriors in battle. But, precisely because of his fighting ability and experience, he was never allowed to make the decision about whether to go to war. That decision was made by the White Chief, in conjunction with the tribal council. The White Chief would often be a woman. It was her job to be the guardian of life, and to never let the warriors' enthusiasm for fighting get them into a situation which brought more death than life to the tribal community. I thought it was the most sensible political idea I’d ever heard.