Wednesday Poetry: Bury my car at wounded knee

Text and background after the jump.

A comet flew through my soul

Not far from Black Hills Gold

Uphill

From a

Snaking River

Did yellow-hair die?

Cheyenne

Cherokee

Navajo

How the

___________

Did Indian names

Wind up on

Cars?

Four Sleeping

Giants

View a corn palace circus

From a cold land

As spirits roam alone

Bury my car at wounded knee

From Adrienne at Native Appropriations:

Many years ago, back when I was a wee sophomore in college, my roommate Charlotte stumbled upon this poem in the streets of San Francisco. I’ve had it on my computer ever since, and I love it.