Trump and Pocahontas Slur: In Memory of Olivia Lone Bear

Sometimes the parable has more
Underlay to it
Than ‘truth’ itself. Within the coma
Of a year’s stark breath
The Flowering Tree has known
Rankness. Frailty. Near death.
But what of concepts germinated
When the leaf was truly green?
More pliable? When
Time’s perpetuity evolved
To the salute
Of an earth-keeping unlined hand?

Conceptually, the “I” remains – as
It must. From
Beyond the society-of-one
There’s another
Masquerading “anon”.
She knows of the slit
In the belly…
The segregated tongue.

The parable is thunder.
Is exorcism.
Is her Modoc chant.

Sometimes, on account,
She’ll name
Her assassins.

Stefanie Bennett, ex-blues singer and musician, has published several books of poetry, a novel, and a libretto. She also worked with Arts Action For Peace. Of mixed ancestry [Irish/Italian/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Australia in 1945. Read other articles by Stefanie.