He's gone Injun....

Walking amongst the needles

The wind talking to Tatanka through the pines

Remembering the people

whose faces appear in the sacred rocks

Let’s not forget them

They know how to live on this land

I’ve been here since the early 60’s

when we pulled into Rapid in a blizzard

The smell of the sweet grass

the pounding of the drum

the keening voices
the howling wind

crawled inside me

My heart is still at Wounded Knee

I recall telling the southern
suburban school kids

in the 80’s about the people

Drawing lines on the chalkboard

linear thinking,
capitalism,
is killing

our spirit
and our mother

My son visited in the womb

but it’s in his blood now too

It passes from one to another

The love for the people
the love of nature

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 all our relatives

The arrogance of the white way

drops dead in time

Like they say in the movies,

he’s gone Injun 

Bruce