Wounded Knee

Historically accurate, narrative poem 29 December, 1890 - At Wounded Knee Creek A baby cries for its mother slain and a way of life dies on that frozen plain. Old Chief Big Foot and his small band, for Custer’s last stand are made to pay- on that cold December day. Women, children, and unarmed braves- lie tattered and torn, dying and dead- in and along a crooked shallow rill that afforded no protection to those that cringe from the 7th’s deadly Hotchkiss guns on the hill. Custer’s former command has at long last- on defenseless people exacted unfair revenge- for past defeat in combat fair. The Great Spirit sent a blizzard that same night- to cleanse the air and hide the earth so that he could not see- the death and carnage inflicted there at Wounded Knee. The carnage is long past- all now is serene at Wounded Knee, and upon the hill on the very spot where once the Hotchkiss guns did stand- a small strip of land now remains for Chief Big Foot and his Minneconjou band. Finally theirs for eternity or until the sun sets no more- purchased on that cold December day with blood and gore at Wounded Knee. cjf “I did not know then how much was ended- When I look back from this high hill of my old age- I can still see the butchered women and children- lying heaped and scattered all along the crooked gulch- as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud- and was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there- the hoop is broken and scattered- there is no center any more, and the tree is dead.” Chief Black Elk @1932