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