Prove It

 

 I don’t necessarily intend to “prove” anything, really.

I’m just an observer, really.

I’ve been walking around the New England,

Looking under modern layers of “civilization,”

For the remains of Turtle Island.

 

I’m just saying these stones deserve a second look,

That old zigzag border along the road,

That undulating linear row of stones,

That quartzite bear head balanced on a boulder,

Before it is swept away like the diagonal fish weir

That gave the place a name most people misunderstand.

 

Nonnewaug is a place where survivors gathered

After the rats and pigs and fleas,

After the epidemics,

After the Pequots were massacred…

 

I had to add Nonnewaug to that old map:

Farthest away fish weir,

Place of safety,

“Dry (Farming) Land,”

Eeling Place, Fishing Place,

“In the Middle” and maybe more…

 

Fuel breaks among the gardens,

Around the water features,

Along the roadsides and causeways,

Where something is tended,

Where the World is Renewed,

Where the Snake Being allows entry

To all the places where Everything is…