HE'S GONE INJUN

Walking amongst the needles

The wind talking to Tatanka through the pines

Remembering the people

Whose faces appear in the rocks

Let’s not forget them

They knew how to live on this land

I’ve been here since the 60’s

When we pulled into town in that blizzard

The smell of the sweet grass

And the pounding of the drum

And the keening voices

Crawled inside me

My heart is with Wounded Knee

I recall telling the southern suburban kids

Back in the 80’s about the people

Drawing lines on the chalkboard

That suggested capitalism was killing

Our spirit and our mother

My son visited from the womb

But it’s in his blood now
He heard the drum too

It passes from one to another

The love for the people

Even if you don’t know it

My heart gets big when I see the hills that

Look black from a distance

The view from the wind swept butte

Reminds me that this land

Will always belong to our relatives

The arrogance of the white way

Drops dead in time

Like they say in the movies

He’s gone injun