Hoop Dance
_____ For Kevin Locke, Hoop Dancer
July,1989
The sun is a painted pony on the
runaway hoop of the sky.
Grounded at last. Golden
As old grass headed out in the heat,
The pale skull of Yellow Hair is balding
on the bosom of the earth.
Hear that squaw sound keening
along the telegraph wires?
“Custer died. STOP. All divisions massacred. STOP.”
Blue seeps into the dawn like cavalry coats.
Drum sound. Pierced with stars
Bright arrows in the coulees.
Under a moon cut like a
Bloody saber sliding over the thin glitter of water
Soldiers hoped to ford. Greasy Grass. Cemetery of poles
Like buffalo bones.
Three thousand tepees, ringing the night,
Cones on a jingle dancer’s dress.
A thousand feathers rampant and bending under
The hooves of the wind.
Bell song. Dirge. Hoops red and white.
All will dance.
poem by Val Morehouse
Added by Poetry Lover
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