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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
Somewhere on the Black Feet Reservation
Anthony Kendrick
(I)
The Great Spirit
made the hardscape
and the softscape
for the landscape.
The scapegoats
have been fenced in,
in the name of progress,
with no hope
for escape
(II)
The Great Plains spread west;
a brown empty canvas
waiting to be filled.
Rivers pulled slow and wide,
brushed into the prairie grass.
Wildflowers and sage
from hills to mountains,
prepared like a feast.
Wild buffalo grass,
granite outcroppings,
black dirt, and clay.
Up comes the Bison, Bison.
American Buffalo
Great masses of bison
interrupted by the flowing river
and the occasional butte,
where sweet smelling smoke
rose to the Great Spirit
in gratitude of the herd.
(III)
“Oh, Great Spirit!
We thank you for Tatanka
that feeds and clothes us.
Please accept the spirit
of this our brother
back to you,
so that he may
watch over us
in our time of want”
(IV)
A great sweeping thunderstorm
rolling across the plains.
Hail, lightning,
gusting winds, tornadoes
Áápi Nínaawa: White Man.
The red man’s spirit
could not be destroyed,
but his livelihood could.
On the pale horse come the new.
On locomotives the black horse
scouring the pot
to control the savages;
to stroke their egos.
Sacred Indian mounds.
The Buffalo grass,
the granite,
the black dirt, and clay
returning to the earth.
The American Holocaust.
(V)
Browning, Montana.
End of the Great Plains,
gateway to the spine of a continent,
Black Feet Nation.
Convenience store at the crossroads,
shadowing a Chain link cage.
Daily hay ration strew about,
like the change before a street performer.
The buffalo stands stoic and alone.
Bison, Bison.
(VI)
Yellowstone National Park,
crown jewel of a nation,
city of refuge for the displaced.
No murder was committed but
vigilantly they are watched.
Forgetting their humble position,
stepping on the money outside the city…
The bison falls again.
The prairie grass sways;
the dust lifts and floats away.
With it ascends a silent prayer
Bison, Bison.
American Buffalo.
Martyr.
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