| Indian Summer '98 for Laurel You could tell me lies and i wouldn't care as i lie in the tent at the powwow. In this moment I'm content, loving the dust being kicked up in the air, the dancers dance to the beat of drummers, kids running, young ones snagging, old ones laughing, brown skin sweat, black braids dragging. Me, already in love with this summer. * * * In the Mourning She left, empty bed birds singing, the sun rising, gun against my head. * * * Skins and Indians for Kenny Long ago, when the grasses grew, the river flowed and winds blew, you could have been an enemy. But now all I see is you; an Indian who could be me, surviving what the grasses grew to be. You call me cousin, brother, friend, offer handshakes and ancient memory. Sharing struggles that never end. Pick each other up time and time again in a world white eyes never see, we will live on, my cousin, brother, friend. -Jonathan Garfield |