A Sunday Poem | Arrowhead

This week we learned about a mass grave site with the remains of at least 215 children, some as young as 3 years old, at a boarding school for Indigenous children. I was emailing a dear friend about this on Monday night, started reading a Mary Oliver collection when I crawled into bed shortly after, and found this poem almost immediately.

The Arrowhead

The arrowhead,
which I found beside the river,
was glittering and pointed.
I picked it up, and said,
“Now, it’s mine.”
I thought of showing it to friends.
I thought of putting it – such an imposing trinket –
in a little box, on my desk.
Halfway home, past the cut fields,
the old ghost
stood under the hickories.
“I would rather drink the wind,” he said,
“I would rather eat mud and die
than steal as you still steal,
than lie as you still lie.”
Why I Wake Early, Mary Oliver

Friends, I closed my Kindle, scooted down into my bed, and closed my eyes. What a gut punch.

“I would rather eat mud and die
than steal as you still steal,
than lie as you still lie.”
(the bolding and italics are my own)

I am still so new to poetry and am shocked at how often poetry speaks to the moment we’re in. I’m grateful that so many people are open to hearing difficult and painful stories of the past – and are willing to believe and honor them. There is so much to learn and we have a long road ahead of us.