Wampanoag

Tiptoeing up and down

swollen dunes,

in silent contrast

to the crushing surf.

 

Weaving a path

for many moons,

with paint and feathers

through tender grass.

 

Fire Circle Dances

of drum and song,

then white men came

and they were gone.  

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Jacquie in Pink

She wore a pink suit
That morning in Dallas
As black and white film
Recorded the malice.

Adorned at the oath
Of a new President,
And the following day
As the casket was sent.

She gazed at the blood,
Laid the suit in a box,
Though history’s pleading
It’s imprisoned by locks

In the National Archives
For one hundred years,
Her bloody Chanel
Soaked in Camelot’s tears.

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The Praying Stone

The Cape Cod Indians
Came here to pray
On a cold flat rock
Overlooking the bay.
A solid stone alter
Along Wading Place Path,
They would go there for
Comfort from a
Snow fridgid wrath,
Or the women would grieve
For their children’s ill health,
While the men prayed for
Harvest, shelter and wealth.
They prayed Mother Earth
Would provide every day.
On a cold stone alter
Up above Pleasant Bay.

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