for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
A shaman or witch doctor,
Days of ages old,
Locked away, in old ragged bones,
Buried in a mound,
Hidden in the trees,
A tribe taken by time,
Ancient secrets known only by whispers,
Passed down by dreams,
And no longer by the shamans that learned them.
— The End —