Indian Summer I use to envy those girls
By : Reindeer
I use to envy those girls,
With blond hair and blue eyes,
Their diary filled with butterfly kisses,
A Pretty little flower with a heart shape face,
Their calendar circled with the homecoming date,
My book was always empty,
I could not write what I needed to say,
Someone may pry,
Can't have that
Every secret exposed,
How do I explain these scrimshaw hands?
Those crimson scars are hard to hide,
Damn Cat indeed.
The church was the only one,
with a license for redemption.
And every summer they sent us there,
Hoping to save our souls
It didn't work.
We had more faith in our elders,
Than those black-robed nuns,
So eager to beat our hands with rulers,
making them numb,
Or make fun of our names.
broke Sister Anna's crystal vase,
She beat him black and blue.
The rest of us stood silently by,
Indian Children don't cry
But that night,
The evening sky was afire,
With such beauty,
We stood silently then too,
And none of us cried.
And in the summer when we reunite,
Celebrating our passage through life,
We remember that night,
has such a lovely smile.
By : Reindeer
Written for a challenge at Fireside Poetry for the 16 word Challenge.
Sadly, this experience was not uncommon among Native American Children. I
envy, church, licensed, diary
crystal, butterfly, pry, flower,
evening, book, numb, reunite,
calendar, date, crimson, summer
Page created : Pam Gallo
Midi : Star keeper