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Oh, how we are poisoned!
The Yonega, the Wasichu, 
a new creature, 
different from us in more than just their 
white skin and sunflower hair.
 How did such a people come
 across the great waters?

They come to our people with gifts of death.
Their ulcers wrapped in calico cloth. 
Their fevers traded to us for our good food.

Oh, they do share these devils, equally,
with all the tribes on mother earth. 

Baskets of evil spirits in jars of glass 
and crockery made by hands not their own. 
Pouring toxins, shame and sloth,
 into our proud warriors. 

Our people are blinded
 by their shiny metals 
and made deaf to the ancient beat
 of our ancestors drums. 

We weave their stories
 into the braids of our youth 
who forget the stories 
of our people. 

Oseronni eyes of blue and green
 cannot see the wind that moves the land, 
shaping it and making the soil sing.
Sunlight steals their sight. 

Mother Earth and Father Sky, and Brother River 
nourishes the Three Sisters who sustain us
 with their corn, squash, and beans. 
They are offended and leave us to our folly.

The white man teaches us dishonesty and sloth, 
making of our backs the bow
 that draws the arrows 
that break our hearts. 
The bone in our back bends our faces to mother earth.

The only color left to us is 
the crimson in each salty tear that falls. 
Oh, how we are poisoned!

~Bone in her back,  as named by the Cherokee, her mother's people. Sometimes called Elizabeth Thomas by her father's people. Written by her hand on this day,  January 28, 1812,  New Orleans, Louisiana 
(Fiction)

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