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Shoshone Moons

I am Whispering Elk, Shoshone. The land grows dark with white men like so many ants. It is time of green corn moon. Their tribe grows: blue knives, buffalo men, yellow hairs. They speak many tongues, break words. Yellow corn moon fills bellies. They still come. Days grow less like buffalo. We see blood on brown corn moon looking through trees. Their tribes grow. I am Whispering Elk, Shoshone. Our moons grow few.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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