The Visit (For Gary Robinson of the Northern Utes)

Maybe he was an angel.

That day we stood grinning, looking at each other,
he looked no different
than he did twenty years before.
Never did look much like an Indian.

It was good to see him.
He said he'd come on business, said he'd been sent,
told me of an out-of-body experience,
said he hoped I'd listen.

I did and he made me glad.
Twenty-four hours later
I still was glad,
had actually been glad all night.
Next morning I phoned his hotel,
heard “No, he was never registered.”

And still I'm slow.
It's not easy to be at ease with an angel,
or perhaps it is,
too easy when he comes as a witness.

I'll tell you this,
he sounded like my sister when he talked.
I told her so
and could feel her smile on the phone.
"There's something about us and Indians"
was all she'd say.