William Clark Remembers Sacagawea
She was Birdwoman, a name
that somehow fit. Strong for one
so small, quick on her feet, graceful,
and quiet of speech, with hands
speaking more than lips. Cheerful, shy,
and eager to please, but burdened by
a man determined not to be pleased.
Charbonneau, cursing crudely,
called her lax in servitude. Untrue,
though I seem to recollect she sometimes
kept him waiting, just the slightest bit.
To a man, the Corps of Discovery
found that amusing, but for her sake
we made little mention of it.
The dolt dared not abuse her
in our presence. This she sensed,
and took as license to defy him
in small ways he seldom understood
or managed words for, and she,
in mock meekness, of course, never would.
I liked her the more for it.
Captain Lewis kept his counsel,
aloof, but for tending her sickness
and the birthing, which was bad.
We both worried; he feared losing
her knowledge, I her knack for
keeping her man from becoming
an even more obnoxious cad.
She forgot herself only once,
in Shoshoni territory. Sobbing,
she fairly flew to embrace her slender,
stoic, brother chief. His rebuke was subtle,
her response readily obedient.
I understood her better after that.
Exuberance is not the way of their belief.
Weary months later, watching her dark eyes
dance in wonder and awe, at endless waves
and a fish big beyond believing, I too saw
how her smile steadfastly stood between
our ragged company and despair. She,
our anchor and sail, beacon and bedrock;
bold, brave, and in her own way, beautiful.
Drawing that image deep inside
my mind, I colored in the lines,
kept and held it as a secret shield
against every doubtful, dark,
and desperate mile of our returning.
As the tapestry of time began to fray
I've cherished it, down to this very day.
© Lyn Messersmith
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