Poem “Indians”

Dedicated to My ancestor/G-Grandmother: Hurit of the Seneca, Iroquois- Upstate, NY.

Turquoise, Iroquois,
The beating of the drums.
 
Dried up corn,
Braided hair,
Feathers aplenty,
Eyes ‘a fair.
 
Macrame, beads, bandanas,
The Yearly dance,
Spiritual readings,
A hideous mask.
 
Deathly afraid of new traditions,
Will we get free with Indian intuitions?
 
 
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AsheDina © 2010
The Mad Jewess
 
 
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