For the Cayuse Five
by Terry
Monmouth, OR
It’s a bitter thing to see what you’ve adored taken
And loved by someone else.
Those rolling hills, sweet waters, rustling grasses –
All are someone else’s now.
And not some avaricious master,
But someone who loves
Like you did. Like you do.
Instead of wilting like Neruda
and claiming you never loved,
You rise like a Christ and say “Hang me!”
You say hang me for my people,
But you mean close my eyes
To ghostly love.
