F E B R U A R Y   1 9 9 5

CHANGING SEASONS

Of course he stills haunts me.

I never expected him
to jump into his grave that spring,
admitting it was over.

On clear summer mornings
I still see our reflections upon the river
as my fly breaks the smooth surface.

And he walks with me in fall
when I hunt grouse in thick alder,
rifles heavy on our shoulders.

For many years I will find his footprints
in fresh snow and hear him whistle
from across the frozen river.

He was always an impatient brother.

John E. Smelcer is the editor of Durable Breath: Contemporary Native American Poetry (1994).