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literature sociology

smoke rise

i am the seventh great granddaughter

of pocahontas

7th daughter of a 7th daughter

the smoke rise witch queen naturally reborn

as the vengeance

of a Kentucky prairie

filled with the blood

of 16 thousand dead cherokees

i have come for what was ours

i have come to dethrone unjust kings

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


it’s okay, grandfather
i know you had no choice
of all your daughters
they insisted upon raping
and marrying
your favorite
the most beautiful
the one you taught to hunt like a man

history gives her so many names

but now i exist
your eighth-great-granddaughter
a little white skinned
poet warrior
who can taste blood in her mouth
a tongue
fierce as an arrow

we remain

we are ancient

we are older than their gods

and i haven’t forgotten

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

he does not know the new hum in the sky

in my possession
has been the disposition
of an old drunken man
since i was a southern girl of five

perhaps i’ve traveled too long

my high heel collection is ancient

certain i was there
caesar’s sliced body
was set ablaze in the forum

present in the tepee
where pocahontas lost
her budding virginity

saw lincoln slouch in his chair
as blood and hair
flew over the balcony

but the image that haunts my bones
the reason my soul will always drink
was that sunny april morning
on the deck of the orizaba

hart throwing his leg over the rail
his eyes full of cutty sark
and the cum filled memories
of his thirty sailors

beaten bruised

the sad indian

“Goodbye, everybody!”

as he vaulted into the sea

my face twisting into the shape
of an unnecessarily brutal horror

but somehow
wishing for his sake
it was
his precious bridge
from which
he was falling