Table of Contents
Dead in Bloody Snow
Page: 61
Meridel LeSueur
I am an Indian womanI am an Indian woman
Witness to my earthWitness to my earth
Witness for my people.Witness for my people.
I am the nocturnal door,I am the nocturnal door,
The hidden cave of your sorrow,The hidden cave of your sorrow,
Like you hidden deep in furrowLike you hidden deep in furrow
and dungand dung
of the charnel mound,of the charnel mound,
I heard the craven passing of theI heard the craven passing of the
white soldierswhite soldiers
And saw them shoot at Wounded KneeAnd saw them shoot at Wounded Knee
upon the sleeping village,upon the sleeping village,
And ran with the guns at my backAnd ran with the guns at my back
Until we froze in our blood on the snowUntil we froze in our blood on the snow
I speak from old portagesI speak from old portages
Where they pursued and shot into the river crossingWhere they pursued and shot into the river crossing
All the grandmothers of Black Hawk.All the grandmothers of Black Hawk.
I speak from the smoke of grief,I speak from the smoke of grief,
from the broken stone,from the broken stone,
And cry with the women crying from the marshAnd cry with the women crying from the marsh
Trail and tears of drouthed women,Trail and tears of drouthed women,
O bitter barren!O bitter barren!
O barren bitter!O barren bitter!
I run, homeless.I run, homeless.
I arriveI arrive
in the gun sight,in the gun sight,
beside the white square housesbeside the white square houses
of abundance.of abundance.
My people starveMy people starve
In the time of the bitter moon.In the time of the bitter moon.
I hear my ghostly people cryingI hear my ghostly people crying
A hey a hey a hey.A hey a hey a hey.
Rising from our dusty dead the sweet grass,Rising from our dusty dead the sweet grass,
The skull marking the place of loss and flight.The skull marking the place of loss and flight.
I sing holding my severed head,I sing holding my severed head,
to my dismembered child,to my dismembered child,
A people's dream that died in bloody snow.A people's dream that died in bloody snow.
Meridel LeSueur defines herself as "a 76-year-old Midwestern writer," something of an understatement since she has published 12 books and innumerable stories, articles and poems. "Dead in Bloody Snow" is reprinted from Rites of Ancient Ripening (Vanilla Press, Minneapolis, 1975) in which she says, "Slogan for 76: Survival is a form of resistance."