The Storyteller Gets Her Name
By Ari Tison
My dad used to call me Eagle Eyes. I was the one to find eagles, owls, blue jays
on a dark day. He called me so until my brother was born infant and grew to boy.
Having heard my name, as younger siblings often do,
he wanted to be called Eagle Eyes too. He studied the birds’ flight, kept his
eyes to the skies for hours, and soon he knew their long names
and could correct me. Except, at sixteen, I never liked to be corrected.
But my brother showed me the work, and I had to learn to give.
Give him all I could as my elders did for me.
So I tugged on my heart to let go, as I knew he had earned Eagle Eyes
more than I ever could. And what I found instead was new room, for a new name.
I am Siwa’köl, storyteller.
And my brother, he is Eagle Eyes.
I tell his tales and mine so someday when we join the elders,
my stories may be told and his birds can take to the sky.
But for now, I will share with you my story so that you can know who you are—
and maybe you are Siwa’köl too.
