KIMI
A woman.
Her daughter.
Holding each other.
Alawa,
my sister,
what would you think
to see the English
act so tenderly?
Alis
The settlement is not remarkable—
a tiny village flanked with four earthen walls,
one with the gate,
the other three with stations,
like turrets on a castle.
Inside we find
last year’s forgotten garden
and empty animal pens,
a small collection of cottages
set about an open square,
a large building used as barracks
by the soldiers sent to claim this land,
England’s presence in the New World.
Beyond these buildings are
a jail,
a chapel,
the armory,
farther still the forge.
Though most structures are intact,
neglect has left its mark.
More homes must be erected
for the families here.
After a hasty service,
the bones are covered in a grave.
Men cart the scorched remains
of the burned building,
where the soldiers stored provisions.
Some of the boys hack at the vines
encircling the abandoned cottages.
In the square,
the women cluster in a knot.
“For months, the Governor
never spoke against that Ferdinando,”
pinched-lipped Mrs. Archard says.
“And we’re the ones who have to pay.
The Governor should have forced him
to stop at those nearby islands
for the livestock and fruit he promised.
The Governor should have refused
to leave the ship,
insisted we sail to Chesapeake.”
“But we cannot change that now,” Mrs. Dare says,
and I study her rounded frame.
When will her baby join us:
before or after Mother’s child comes?
“I wonder if our spiteful pilot
will let us gather all our things,” Mrs. Archard says.
“Weeks it took to pack those ships.
Weeks again we’ll need.
I wouldn’t be a mite surprised
if he sailed away come nightfall.”
Mother touches Mrs. Archard’s arm.
“The Governor will make things right,” Mother says,
but the woman’s face loses none of its harsh angles.
She tries to comfort Mrs. Archard,
but I’m the one
who needs her reassurance.
Uncle Samuel,
Father’s only brother,
has lived with us forever.
This year apart is the only one
I’ve ever known without him.
Where has he gone?
Only bones
were here
to greet us.
Two boys scuffle over an axe,
another carries vines that spill from his arms.
The vine boy’s eyes find mine;
swift as a pickpocket,
he moves away.
I linger, observing him,
his head a mess of curls.
Everywhere I look
it’s men,
women,
boys.
There is
no one
here
like me.
And Uncle,
the one
so dear to me,
has disappeared.
“Alis?” Mother calls.
She’s gone ahead,
bustling toward the buildings.
No word of tenderness,
no glance that says she shares my worries.
“Please gather our things.”
I reach for our bundles,
hug them to my chest so tightly,
no one can hear me cry.
Alis
We find Father bent over a fire
in the ironmonger’s shed,
already working metal
salvaged from the ruins.
His hammer sings,
high and piercing,
and I run to him,
fold into him.
He drops his hammer,
pulls Mother close,
and the three of us huddle
as a flurry of activity
continues outside.
“We are here.
We are safe.
We will find Samuel,” he says.
Alis
I clutch my wooden bird,
one of the three Uncle whittled
just before he left,
the second safe with Joan,
the last one his own.
Alis
“It’s a bird of Virginia,” Uncle said.
His hands pressed the carving into mine.
Though its wooden body is brown as a sparrow’s,
I imagine sapphire wings,
a patch of rust spread above its curved white middle,
just like the painting Uncle has described.
The graceful bird,
its wings rest so daintily.
This Uncle Samuel promised me:
Birds return home
no matter how far they fly.
One set free might wander
but will eventually rejoin his flock.
At first,
I believed this was Uncle’s pledge
to return to me,
but when Father said we too
would go to Virginia,
I thought of this:
What if a flight of birds
followed the wandering one,
joining him on a journey
entirely new?
Since setting sail
my secret wish has been
that Uncle’s joy
would be so great,
he’d forget England
when his service was done.
Instead he’d make his home Virginia,
fly
to the City of Ralegh,
to us,
his family.
KIMI
The whispers among my people began
the first time the English came.
They grew to angered shouts:
The English have great power,
mightier than we have seen
in the agile deer,
the arrows of our enemies,
the angry hurricane.
Able to blot out the sun.
KIMI
I run the well-worn path
beyond the stalks of beans and corn,
through the slender poles of the palisade,
past the longhouses
to Wanchese.
“There are women and children!” I say.
I have interrupted Wanchese and his men,
their shoulders baring
four inked arrows,
the marks of my father.
Wanchese shifts,
the copper beads of his necklace
burning in the sun.
“They are no worry to you.
Find your mother.”
I ignore the men’s impatient faces.
I should join the women in the fields.
But I remain where I am
. Wanchese must understand.
“This time they’ve brought their families.
The English want to stay.”
He springs to his feet.
“Find your mother, Kimi.”
I race toward the fields,
my legs quivering at my boldness
before Wanchese.
Of all the Roanoke,
he knows the customs of the English best.
He lived in their land with Manteo
after the first ones came.
But even he
cannot know everything.
KIMI
My people,
we have been
small in number,
and the tasks
of weaving mats
and pounding corn
have come to me.
The extra work
does not burden.
I am pleased
to prepare food
if what I do strengthens us.
I am proud
my fingers bleed
if my weaving shows our skill.
I am willing
to work
if labor means
my heart will for an instant
forget Alawa,
my sister,
who should be near me.
Instead
her bones rest
with our ancestors
because of English men.
KIMI
My mother and my aunts
work side by side,
their backs bent
as they tend the crops.
Like the corn,
a woman
spreads her roots wide,
like the bean,
a woman
settles her roots deep.
The English plans have been made plain:
Women mean they’ll stay.
If we hope to rid ourselves of them,
push them from us
once and for all,
we must do it
before their roots take hold.
Alis
Saws bite through wood
and hammers pound broken boards—
quick work for just our second day onshore.
The settlement buzzes with enterprise
like the streets of London on market day.
A perfect chance for me to steal away.
Alis
It is not difficult to climb the wall,
slip through the ditch unseen
to the outside world.
I must touch, hear, taste, breathe
this place that is not London,
so open and free.
Beyond the protection of the village,
the memory of the bones comes,
and I crouch low,
like a dog kicked from its shelter.
How did he die?
Where have the other soldiers gone?
Are we in danger staying here?
My damp hands wring and twist
the fabric of my dress.
Every bush,
tree,
shadowed covering
I study,
until I trust I am alone.
Only then do I
slowly stand,
let myself step
into the beauty
that beckons me.
Alis
If Uncle were with me,
we’d wander the forest;
he’d tell me the names of
the creatures we’d see.
For the unknown ones,
he’d invent new words,
speak of their habits,
their patterns,
their breed.
Some stories he’d tell me
would be filled with wonders—
three-legged horses,
birds with no wings.
I’d solemnly listen,
list hundreds of questions.
Never he’d tire
of teaching me things.
Uncle Samuel,
how I miss you.
I want to see you again.
KIMI
From my earliest days,
I knew my father as
our wise counselor,
great leader.
But Wingina belonged
to my people,
not to me.
It was Wanchese
who told me stories,
held me when storms raged,
my uncle
more attentive
than any father.
Now
Wingina
is gone.
Wanchese
is weroance.
And I am
no longer
welcomed
to his side.
KIMI
As I work
in the fields
I think of yesterday:
the English,
the women,
how Wanchese wouldn’t listen.
Once I’ve bathed,
I escape to the woods,
where all is familiar,
where I’ll be welcomed always.
I do not expect
to find
her
there.
KIMI
Hunched over the forest floor,
the girl pulls up flowers,
blind to my approach.
Alis
All is fresh here,
undisturbed by the noises of the village.
In these woods
sunlight breaks through branches,
illuminating flowers,
those star-centered beauties.
How Mother would enjoy a bit of brightness!
The stems snap easily as I pick them.
KIMI
I watch her huddled
like a fawn, unaware of danger.
She’s careless in her work;
petals,
leaves
litter her feet.
She’s careless in her safety
all alone.
I shift to make my presence known.
Alis
So intent am I,
I miss the girl
until she is beside me.
KIMI
Her eyes fly to me,
grow wide
but do not falter,
though she wears panic on her face.
Her skin too delicate,
like a thin-barked tree;
her body bundled,
thick like a caterpillar.
Alis
Motionless
she stands.
Markings spiral up her arms,
snake down below her fringed skirt—
the only clothing she wears—
like fine embroidery stitched into skin.
Copper flashes at her earlobes,
a rope of pearls encircles her neck.
Short hair covers her forehead,
the rest gathered behind.
She studies me.
Her gaze never wavers.
What if there are
others hiding, waiting
like that shadow in the woods?
A cry escapes my lips.
I turn and flee.
KIMI
Something happens
before she runs,
bearlike,
back to her people.
Something falls from her clothing,
this little wooden bird,
a
nestling, resting
in my cupped palm.
KIMI
Yesterday,
I stayed hidden, watched
the girl and her mother.
Today,
I wanted her to see me.
I caught her unaware,
exposed her fear,
showed my courage,
the power of the Roanoke.
KIMI
The earth, the skies, the seas
swirl with montoac,
the power that both
shelters life and destroys.
I grasp
a piece of her strength
in my hand.
Alis
I am safe now,
yet my mind buzzes
with memories of the silent girl:
the inked marks covering her limbs,
jewelry worn on her bare chest.
I reach for Uncle’s bird,
a bit of comfort.
But it’s no longer in my pocket.
Not near my feet,
nor along the village path.
I twist my apron in my fist.
It is nowhere.
Alis
My bird.
It was all I had of Samuel.
The sun slants through our window
as Mother and I lay the table.
Mother’s movements are slower now.
Soon our little one will come.
But even thoughts of the baby
do not excite me.
“Alis, what ails you?” Mother asks.
How can I speak,
knowing Uncle’s token is missing,
remembering the savage girl?
“I’m weary,” I say,
hoping she’ll not inquire further.
“Then it’s early to bed for you,” she says.
KIMI
Above me as I walk,
two iacháwanes flutter,
their blue wings flashing
in the evening sun.
They scold and bicker
as they dip and swirl,
light on a branch,
bob like leaves racing down a river.
How happy they are,
their round white bellies
satisfied with berries,
their heads cocked
to catch each sound.
Then
with joy,
Blue Birds Page 2
