Caren Krutsinger Poet Narrative

Men Come To Kill Not Live

Men are dangerous, unkind, they come to kill, not to live.
They eliminated my entire tribe. I am the only survivor.
It is up to me to live for my mother, my father, my sisters.
I move from hut to hut, staking out new gardens, a step ahead
of the enemy.

I speak to no one; my friends and relatives are gone.
These others are different than me. I fear them, so I carve my
death sticks, and I wait, listening in the dark for their breathing.
They are treacherous and dangerous. I stay to myself, seeking out
no company from these foreign devils.

I need no communication or help, and I give them no trouble.
If they come for me, they are going to get a surprise. I am ready.
I know how to defend myself; and I am armed and dangerous.
Some have yelled at me in foreign tongues. I am silent, waiting,
watching, listening, but not in fear. Ready to combat.

I am no newcomer to violence. They annulated my entire tribe.
I wait in my slumber nest, above the trees, with my ears open
even when my eyes are sleeping. Men are dangerous, unkind.
They come to kill, not live.

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L Milton Hankins September 21, 2022 at 10:00 AM I think this is how many natives feel about missionaries, Caren. In fact, I know so. The movie "At Play in the Fields of the Lord" is a fine story based on this very idea. Thank you. Caren Krutsinger September 22, 2022 at 12:11 PM Thank you. This was written in response to a writing prompt- we were to think of ourselves as the last indigineous native in a Brazilian rain forest who recently passed - the last surviving member of his tribe