Adrian C. Louis
“The old people were moving slowly
through the cold air like exhausted swimmers
fighting the tides of a lung-raping sea.
But, the sun had its high beams on
and near the creek children were laughing
and moving as fast as spit on a hot woodstove.
Grandfather, it was a good day to pray.
Grandfather, it was a good day to pray
that the young would somehow get to be old….”
full poem at http://poems3.blogspot.com/, from his collection “Ceremonies of the Damned”
I've just bought you a new winter coat
and we're temporarily sane,
cruising two blocks down the street
from K-Mart in Rapid City.
Three young Indian boys,
fourteen, maybe fifteen years
old and living the thug life
are strolling across the busy street
making cars stop and I slam on
the brakes and give them the finger
and they flash gang signs and one pulls
a small, silver gun and I stomp on the gas
and in the rearview mirror I see them
laughing and I know positively
by the fear in your eyes that
not only is the white man's God
dead, but the Great Spirit is too.
— Adrian C. Louis
"Callow & in another century, I leered at white girls &
dreamed of a future where my lips might boldly graze
upon their pretty, pale globes. Middle-aged & eating
sardines on a reservation, I re-assessed the collective der-
riere of Indian womanhood & saw a kite-like tail, its
host of ancestor ghosts fluttering far back into baying
wolf pack days. Reawakened, I made my choice so easily
& picked red drama, the joyous pain of it all & that is
why, darling, I drove six hours to silently stand with my
hot hands upon your frozen tombstone, the pitiful prai-
rie snow whimpering down."
...Adrian C. Louis, from his collection "Random Exorcisms." A writer whose work I admire a great deal, and who is probably not read / talked about as much as he should be.