You may call me Ishi,
the last Yahi,
if that suits you.
Though back in the foothills,
I am nameless,
known essentially as one who is
with, in, through, and about
the wind –
that should suffice for our purpose here.
I have no friends
who still live
so no one can
properly introduce us,
such is the custom.
Perhaps one day you can christen me,
and together we can return
to defend the canyons,
where and when I will show you
my real name.
© Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 
I’m glad you wrote this insightful poem about Ishi and about the human situation. Really effective linking )
Thank you, Bonnie. I enjoyed being Ishi for the time I was writing it. 🙂 —–Chagall
Once I read Theodora Kroeber’s Ishi: Last of his Tribe… memorable.
I have recently come to Ishi through a sidebar comment a friend once made to me. He said that in an earlier life, he and I were the last 2 members of a dying Californian tribe. He remembered it distinctly. A google on that theme brought me to Ishi. An amazing, but sad story – don’t you think? —–Chagall
I do…and so glad you found it. )
I will check out Kroeber, as you mentioned. —–Chagall
Just ordered the Kroeber book from B&N. Did you know that Alfred Kroeber was Ursula Le Guin’s dad? —Chagall