Sand Creek

Turquoise and dust and under still warm ash
my mother cries, where are the eldest words?
But coyotes cry out on cobalt blue,
the sand's sun memory
and stones could be tears of moon.
So young the day and we wont see the light,
brown blood so dry shuts breath 'n' eyes,
strong evil Medicine with skin too light
as ghosts they are
and show us death 'n' misery.
where's my knife so sharp?
Fingers, bones and powder
the deadly dance of shadows
dressed of dogs howls,
campfires die in the last breath of woodsticks,
no more silver water in broken jugs.

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This poem was born to honor Natives and their suffering.