Red Steagall: New and Selected Poems

The Last Buffalo

-22The Last Buffalo I sit at my desk and occasionally glance At a buffalo skull on the wall— Was painted by a Hidatsa medicine man. If the ancient skull could talk at all He might tell me tales of the great grassy sea On the bountiful Panhandle Plains, Or remember the nights ’neath a Montana sky, Or the cold of the Wind River rains. He might remember a young Cheyenne warrior On a spotted horse, how he could ride Staying abreast of a running fat cow, With a lance that left death in its stride. He might remember the hide-huntin’ men And the sound of a buffalo gun, Or the smell of fresh blood as they died one by one Until there was no place to run. The yearly migration of millions of beasts Made it look like the land was alive. The wolves took the weak ones, the winter took some, And the Indian took enough to survive. The Indian believed the buffalo was his brother, Like the coyote, the eagle, the wind. He revered him in story, in song, and in dance, Was his larder, his shelter, his friend. His brown hide was used for the teepee and robes. A shoulder blade made a good hoe. A paunch held the food for the winter supply, And a sinew a string for a bow. -23Then the Sharp’s Big 50 roared over the land, Till only a few head remained. The ones that were left either died of old age Or were captured when they fenced off the plain. On the railhead at Dodge the great stacks of hides Were loaded on railcars and then, While the carcasses rotted and wolves picked the bones, Cobblers made boots from the skin. The Comanche went out from the Fort Sill stockade— For one final hunt on the plain. They returned to the fort, their destruction complete. They would never hunt buffalo again. The Sioux and the Cheyenne came into the forts. They died from disease by the score. But they still believed that the great massive herds Would return to the plains as before. The dream still survives, and in my mind I see The Comanche still lord of the plain. But this ancient old skull with its dark, empty eyes Is the prairie song’s saddest refrain. 1988 ...