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Blackfeet

By Amanda Wilson


Oh Lord, quell these ugly thoughts,

These spiraling atrocities.

What a job they did to me—

Breaking me down incrementally,

Smiling as they unleashed

Hellfire and silent war crimes.


Now, to quiet the voices, I read,

Learn, plot, and daydream—

Wading through my own anxiety,

Searching for ways to live peacefully.


But ancient, distant drums still beat.

Ashes cling to my two black feet.

Future foes, I desecrate, then defeat.


I look forward to days I can breathe deep,

Where I can finally sleep,

Where I can find ancient solace inside of me—

A day when I no longer weep.


By Amanda Wilson

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