Tapu'at House

by Charles de Lint

In the Women's House,

spirits are speaking.

The women

are tapping word-hoards

until stories

jump like cholla thorns

from mind to pen,

burrowing deep beneath

the skin.

In the Fairy House,

Coyote sleeps.

All around him, in the desert,

saguaro dream like green giants

while Coyote juggles

mischief and luck in his sleep.

All around him, in the desert,

the uncles and aunts

teach us to remember

that we are still animals.

In the Women's House,

the otherworld is watching.

The women

are borrowing from the dry hills

shape and pigment,

vision and song,

allowing totems to guide them

through this pathless world.

In the Spirit House,

women are singing.

Their voices

are like the silent laughter

of cats.

With every day's work

they move closer to the

vanishing ghost of a wilderness

that now exists only

in peripheral vision.

What you and I no longer remember,

the women in this house

have never forgotten.