who has not heard I wonder

this awful

silent still open pulsing wound

this story that is not a story

but evidence of what is human depravity

There is no sign announcing

Curious Visitor From Wherever

and For What Reason:

You Have Arrived!

The mass grave is—-could you say ‘protected’?

It is there

surrounded by a chain link fence

On a windy sunless day I open the gate

Step into this murky history

Stand and look

Medicine bags in many colours gifted

Bits of ribbon tied to the links

Sage

A monument names some of those buried

A narrow cement walkway surrounds the grave

Weeds flourish

and long grass

Wind makes no sound

A few pennies on the ledge of the marker

And silence

Two young locals come from the river side

They say their Lakota names

tell us where the deed was done

about the Gatling Gun

about the real body count

where they lay in the snow

Across the road the quiet little river

trees along its tranquil banks

Crude death in the December snow

The clouds are low and dark this day

in Wounded Knee, South Dakota

June winds bend the wildflowers and grasses

They dance an endless ghost song

I don’t know any words for this one

Lost lost lost

Something discovered

Not yet named

I carry it when I go

it weeps soft and deep and low🪶