Singing For the Child Who Knew the Truth

Painting by Eric Thoolen

Singing for the Child Who Knew the Truth


This morning in the traffic stall on I-40 I sang. I sang for
the little girl who a few years back during one of our parties
at the b&b told Sue P., as she offered the flower in her hand:
God lives here.

This is not the god of empires, of grandeur, or the god
with a hand out for money from the poor with which to build
towers of gold for worship, and not the god who has deemed
women unfit for equality. This is the humble god who goes
about creation with absolute compassion and comprehension.

I sang for her, this girl, this child who has disappeared
to the north with her mother. Her mother was a dynamic young
law student. Now she calls down drunk; she makes promises
to bring the girl back for a visit, or starts fights because
she is lonely and angry. Her daughter stands near her when
she calls, her companion on the journey.

They appear lost somewhere between the heart and America.
I had forgotten the story until Sue P. reminded us last night.
Does the child remember?
And what of the child in all of us?

Joy Harjo August 2005