Her, Too
she spoke in a slaughtered language;
otherwise the audience forgot
the price of their good-natured front.
her effort was no doubt futile,
though perhaps tweaked a few wrinkles,
and salted some hairlines.
judged by the pale shadow
of many a buried bone,
white was the color of death.
whether on a proclamation,
treaty, deed, scalp-wanted poster,
or the robe below a missionary’s waist,
always white.
they listened, the audience,
but of course were innocent;
for their own whiteness
came from settlers beyond memory.
they watched her
with eyes as wide as the Earth:
a nod to the value of the land
and maybe a few trees.
there were no tears, of course,
even less the sort that carved a path
of exile and pain. mostly
what they saw was blue.
blue on white.
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Inspired by a guest speaker at UMM
8/12 .. fixed second stanza
7/30/22 .. huge changes to flow and structure of poem
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