I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall



after an Indian woman puts her shoulder to the Grand Coulee Dam



and topples it. I am told by many of you that I must forgive



and so I shall after the floodwaters burst each successive dam



downriver from the Grand Coulee. I am told by many of you



that I must forgive and so I shall after the floodwaters find



their way to the mouth of the Columbia River as it enters the Pacific



and causes all of it to rise. I am told by many of you that I must forgive



and so I shall after the first drop of floodwater is swallowed by that salmon



waiting in the Pacific. I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall



after that salmon swims upstream, through the mouth of the Columbia



and then past the flooded cities, broken dams and abandoned reactors



of Hanford. I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall



after that salmon swims through the mouth of the Spokane River



as it meets the Columbia, then upstream, until it arrives



in the shallows of a secret bay on the reservation where I wait alone.



I am told by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall after



that salmon leaps into the night air above the water, throws



a lightning bolt at the brush near my feet, and starts the fire



which will lead all of the lost Indians home. I am told



by many of you that I must forgive and so I shall



after we Indians have gathered around the fire with that salmon



who has three stories it must tell before sunrise: one story will teach us



how to pray; another story will make us laugh for hours;



the third story will give us reason to dance. I am told by many



of you that I must forgive and so I shall when I am dancing



with my tribe during the powwow at the end of the world.





