(My great-grandmother lost most of her family on the forced march, which came to be called the Trail of Tears.  Indigenous people were moved off the land they had been on for thousands of years, no doubt.  This poem is for them.)

Dancing Rabbit dips one paw
Into clear creek waters. Pink nose wiggle,
A shake of the head to ready thoughts.
Leaps into the unknown histories of a people
Who knew these lands long before blue eyes.

Echo, I cry out
Echo, my words bounce back
Echo, a controlled narrative

In this vast echo chamber
I cry out the words I want to hear.
Then I no longer hear the truths

Which causes me to fear.

The facts become a strange thing
As truth has flown on fragile wings
And all sound reason with it.

What could extinguish
The last glowing coal of love
Whose embers still faintly cling
To that flaming life it once had.

And who would deny it life?
I cannot, and so I shelter it
From rain, through storms,
With gentle breaths, I keep it

Forever burning in my heart.

Inspired by a comment on Sabrina Benaim  

When you realize
What you didn't know,
You are well and truly
On your own.

You fight alone.

Self-awareness is
A lucid torment of
The cruelest part of anxiety,
Mental unrest.

Can we just skip ahead
To the crying
To the heartbreak
To the part where
You say you're leaving
Then I can begin
To live again

And, I did

-In the style of Solange Loe-Sack-Sioe, aka Shell

The purest love is often silent.
It speaks volumes without words.
In silent words throughout the day,
It prays.

April 2,
It snowed in Minnesota
The poor who were cold
Are caught in the trap
Their help is long gone
The programs cut
Why?  To help the rich,
Of course.