Baby Veronica

this day is begging for a poem
this day is running crazy down an oklahoma street, screaming
chasing carloads of federal marshalls and one little girl
who wants grandparents and cousins
a clan, a community, a daddy who looks like her

this day is chasing those marshalls, wailing
BUT GRANDPA'S IN THE HOSPITAL WITH CHEST PAINS!
WAIT! A WHOLE NATION'S GRIEVING
WAIT! THE U.N. HAS IMPLORED YOU TO SAFEGUARD HER RIGHTS
WAIT! A FATHER WHO FOUGHT FOR YOU--THAT'S HIS BABY GIRL
WHAT. IS. WRONG WITH YOU????

the cavalry of marshalls disappears from sight.

(Is this 1813 or 2013?)

this day falls in a heap exhausted
exhaling sobs
knowing the system always favors
wasichu values: more money.
greed washed righteous by “respectability”
flawless hygiene to cover a hollow life
numb with ritalin and prozac
its sterile feet squeezed into gold prada heels
parading as success

oh yeah, this day is begging for a poem
not a sonnet, not an ode, not some couplet
contrived behind ivyed walls
this day begs a poem, no, a prayer, forgotten prayer
rising slowly like a feather on the wind
joined by an eagle's call, then wolf, then bear
then ten thousand buffalo
thundering on ancient graves
a prayer that wakes the ancestors from
their too soon sleep from long walks and long rifles
until they rise up and follow her
walk beside her every step in the white man's world
whisper comfort so her Cherokee heart stays warm
in the strange cold heat of south carolina

mary oishi
23, 24 & 25 september 2013