Lost Unto This World
They took the beads from around my neck and laid them
aside. My mother had given me the beads to wear so all those who saw would know
I was of value. After all, I was the daughter of a chief, a strong warrior. I
was more precious than the hand carved beads so painstakingly smoothed from
stone and shell. I did not cry as I saw them cast the beads into a bin nearly
overflowing with the remnants of the wealth of our people. White beads and blue
beads, webs woven to catch the nightmares and allow us to sleep in the strange
beds under blankets woven from the wool of very smelly animals. I missed the
sweet smell of smoked tanned skins and the warmth of the hide during the cold
darkness of the night.
They took the braids from my hair. The two braids framing
my face and tied so carefully with a pieces of leather cord. My father had
given me a scrap of white rabbit fur and the feather of an eagle to bind at the
end of my braids. He called me his brave child and said I must remember to soar
like the eagle. I was going to fight in a new kind of battle and if I was
strong enough I could touch the sky. During our long march to my new school I would
feel the soft fur of the rabbit fur against my cheek and see the flutter of the
feather out of the corner of my eye and remember my father and I would remember
to be brave. I shed no tears as they unbound my hair, even when they allowed the
feather to flutter to the ground. The feather of the eagle is meant to soar to
the sky, not be crushed under the heeled boot of the pale-skinned man.
When no one was
looking I picked up the scrap of rabbit fur and tucked it into my sleeve. At
night, when I could not sleep, I took the fur out from under my sleeping gown and
rubbed it against my cheek. It would remind me of wind storms on the plains and
the smell of my father’s clothes in the last moments before they took me from
his arms and brought me to this place.
They placed
my body here, beneath a stone with a strange symbol I did not understand. I was
dressed in a thin gown of delicate white cloth designed to cover the darkness
of my skin. Nothing of the gown tells the Spirit World to whom I belong. How
will my mother and father recognize me in these strange rags and my hair pinned
into a tight knot in the back of my head? They could have at least wrapped me
in the deerskin robe my mother had given me to keep me warm on my journey.
I lay here
in this strange land, far from the lands of my people and I do not cry. There are
not enough tears to wash away this loneliness. Above me red poppies, yellow
daffodils and white lilies spring to life. Their roots do not reach down to me
so I cannot feel the lifeblood of the earth renewing itself each spring.
My spirit
will wander in this strange land, so far from the homes of my people. In the
darkness of the night I believe I can feel the whispered brush of rabbit fur
against my face and I know my father is seeking for me. I will stay here,
quiet, until he comes.
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