"Where have they put my home?"
Her voice soft...barely audible
above the noise of civilization..
"They stole our culture...
shut us away...like hogs...
fenced in...rejected..."
The paint of her ancestors
framed her drawn features--
outlining every line of
pain, disappointment, and pride.
"No one is supposed to live after a massacre..."
Woman...walking thru a crowded street
I move aside...a tear staining my cheek...
I move aside to offer her a meager crumb
of the respect we've spent centuries
striping away...
this is the death of culture.