Luther,
who grew up on
the reservation
with my father,
said tonight while we were all watching
the news:
everything here’s occupied
and has been for years —
why are they so willing
to say the word now?
And why should a change
in occupiers matter to those of us
in the less
than one percent? Everything’s
stolen — how the thieves
divide it
doesn’t matter much
to the robbed.
Not sure as to what to say to that —
half of me nodding my head,
half of me wanting to hide.

October 15th, 2011 at 8:04 pm
very strong poem. thank you. c.
October 15th, 2011 at 10:22 pm
Thank you! It has a been a tough one to get right.