The First Indian was just shot by a white man.
I saw it happen –
Up there - on the hill
He was on his horse
Bare chested.
You are my heart
Torn from my open hand
Flower petals
In the wind
Still some day, you will beat
Again, in My chest.
The girls were divided between them.
The boy, a young man now, left trembling.
The eldest girl had stepped away long ago.
The family that was
Splintered
With tight wraps on their bleeding hearts.
Later
There will be time later, to
Feel.
The First Indian was just shot by a white man.