Poem: Her, Too

 

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