One autumn day
of mist and drizzle
I stopped at Wounded Knee,
walked to the cemetery
and sat trying
to imagine forgiveness
with no success.
I sat for hours.
No one came but
a native guy
who sold me
a dream catcher
made of beads
from Taiwan for $20.
Guilt money;
an easy mark.
I sat alone until dusk
when the ghosts arrived.
They were not dancing;
they were weeping.
I fled to my car
and drove to Valentine,
got drunk and slept.
They wept in my dreams.
There is no
statute of limitations
on ******.
  ~mce