HILL TRIBE, PART I

A centipede’s wooden legs
support the bamboo house.
Inside, Indian style
sit the opium smokers.

The medicine man gathered his herbs
while his son shot an emerald serpent
straight from the tree
with a muzzle loading rifle.

Now is the time to dream.

A rusty oil lamp weaves soft yellow light
in patterns of dark and light.
Crickets provide the rhythm for the passing of the pipe
and the river spirit softly
grumbles his approval.

Tomorrow morning

early they rise

to cut the rice

before it rains.