11-15-2021, 03:21 AM
Once upon a summer dawn I was a crow
hovering over a ridge spotted with pale corpses.
In the western distance the dust of my people
faded into the hills as they fled their victory.
The pony herd was restless, the women still wailing,
the children, watching and waiting,
the warriors still ecstatic from the battle, riding
in circles, celebrating their coups, mourning
the dead. After the last dust settled, I flew down
to the campsite, the only teepees left
held dead warriors dressed for the afterlife,
campfires still smoking next to overturned kettles.
Soon the bluecoat waischu would come
to sift through abandoned valley, to wander the ridge in silence,
bury their mutilated dead and dream of revenge.
I leave them that one gift as I rise up
and float on the winds roused by the sun
that carry me back to my people.
hovering over a ridge spotted with pale corpses.
In the western distance the dust of my people
faded into the hills as they fled their victory.
The pony herd was restless, the women still wailing,
the children, watching and waiting,
the warriors still ecstatic from the battle, riding
in circles, celebrating their coups, mourning
the dead. After the last dust settled, I flew down
to the campsite, the only teepees left
held dead warriors dressed for the afterlife,
campfires still smoking next to overturned kettles.
Soon the bluecoat waischu would come
to sift through abandoned valley, to wander the ridge in silence,
bury their mutilated dead and dream of revenge.
I leave them that one gift as I rise up
and float on the winds roused by the sun
that carry me back to my people.