With Hindsight on the Reservation
A crypt among fields of rusted copper,
A blink of an eye in a cemetery of fumbled secrets.
Walking dead to confront the new generation,
Ancestors challenging the living.
Two arrows left, Feathers at the brim -
One left waiting for a native goodbye.
Smokestacks on reservations right after dusk,
When moonlight sells fables to the two-headed sheep.
Let's mark up the carcass with our runes,
Setting our game ablaze under that Wolf Moon.
Left wondering and waiting and wading and wanting
Excuses like arrow tips through the eyes of that fawn.
Hunting permits in a white world become
Relationships in dark nimbus clouds of purple and blue lightning.
Tags on ears and neon hot orange staining reflections,
A bow is not a gun but a bullet in the mouth of wildflowers is a promise.
Setting ablaze that flower in borrowed memories
Like those tadpoles you raised so I could taste our home.
Secrets hidden by vaulted memories,
A manhunt for a sissy that just wanted a fucking grandfather.
Memories like cemetery stones by an unearthed grave,
Families to be forgiven when they're already six feet under.
By Caden Wiles
Biography:
Caden Wiles is a queer, indigenous poet who consistently writes about the intersection of identities within the white world. His works have been featured by Sheepshead, The University of Wisconsin-Madison, and more. Currently, Caden is seeking to get his masters in creative writing while teaching students the joys of poetry.
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