Kill The Indian, Save The Man

The school they put my father in
cut his hair and his ties

to his past, but that is not
what it was designed to do.

The school they put my father in
cut his tongue and his ties

to his language, but that is not
what it was designed to do.

The school they put my father in
cut his voice and his ties

to his family, but that is not 
what it was designed to do.

The school they put my father in
cut his peace and his ties

to his god, but that is not
what it was designed to do.

Until you get to me and how loose
and lost I was and still am, how

untethered I am to any anchor
or ground, how much I yearn for

something binding me to something
that wouldn’t know me if I were to find it,

something that would brush me off as a poser
or a con and be half-right at least to do so;

not until you get to me and my angry peers —
half-present, half-past drifters —

do you see at last 
what the school was designed to do.