The Fight by Joy Harjo

The Fight

 

The rising sun paints the feet

of night-crawling enemies.

And they scatter into the burning hills.

I have fought each of them.

I know them by name.

From before I could speak.

I’ve used every weapon.

To make them retreat.

Yet they return every night

If I don’t keep guard

They elbow through openings in faith

Tear the premise of trust

And stick their shields through the doubt of smoke

To challenge me.

I grow tired of the heartache

Of every small and large war

Passed from generation

To generation.

But it is not in me to give up.

I was taught to give honor to the house of the warriors

Which cannot exist without the house of the peacemakers.