"Wait. We cannot break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the roadsides. You will play golf and enjoy hot hors d’oeuvres. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, “Do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller.” And for all these reasons. I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground."
Friday, November 26, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Today everything has me thinking back to when I first heard about what you did... how I fell, and how he crawled up after me, and how your family looked in black.
This is vague and I don't know any other way to look back at this but over my shoulder and past the murk that clouds the last couple years.
It's fall again. You've left behind small tragedies of people, a marble slab, and a scarf I'll wear to school because it's fall, I'm cold, and it's all part of the spoils of war.
Have faith and more faith and the most faith and I wish I would have tried harder to tell you these things.