I wanted to write a poem of Raven returning
to check up on the Humans in this World
and how he’d be dismayed at forests burning
and at the fascist monsters’ flag unfurled.

And how he’d try to muster some amusement
or play some tricks to make us realize
the folly of our natural abusement
or anything to cut us down to size.

But Raven isn’t mine to play around with.
I can’t appropriate the Native culture.
I’m just another white male wordsmith,
not an idea-thief or meme-vulture.

I guess I’ll have to find a way to tell
my tale in my own words at least as well.

14 March 2025