| Wounded Beauty Looking for love in all the wrong places, I find myself playing pool in some bar, when all of a sudden, like a vision, this Indian woman, so beautiful, with a face that isn't marked by this rez, just staggers in singing some cowboy song. Beauty that she buried in alcohol. I bow my head to mourn her lost beauty, mourn it like it was Wounded Knee to me. A private Trail of Tears, she's defeated. She staggers to me, lights a cigarette, "Your beauty does not belong on this rez." I say. "I lost it." she says. "Where?" I ask. She pauses then puts out her cigarette, looks at me like I could be her savior, she looks around, leans over and whispers. She told me to save her, buy her a beer, a shot, anything to help stop her shakes, then, she says, she could love me, die for me, do anything for me, make promises. Promised me she would never break my heart. Believe me, nothing could break my heart more. -Jonathan Garfield |