I’ve finally broken the arrow…
left the reservation..
as the sayings go.
Not without some hesitation…
not without some reservations..
I’m going to walk the White Man’s road.

Broken arrows from my quiver…
left behind like White Man’s litter..
all along this dusty road.
The road that follows the river…
where I use to play and shiver..
catching fish without a pole.

I’ll stop one more time by the water…
wash away the tears and dust and sorrow..
break my bow upon a boulder.
My people have lost their way…
nothing left for me to say..
cut my hair above my shoulder.

I’ll follow the White Man’s way…
Maybe Albuquerque or Santa  Fe..
only my dusty boots will know the way.
Broken arrows from my quiver…
left behind like White Man’s litter..
all along this dusty road.

r  August 2012