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Discover me, find me,
as my woven ends
unravel in your hands,
as this clay body crumbles
under your gaze,
use the pieces to touch

my insides, to find
a beginning, a word,
a place that cannot be
abstracted. Use me,
the edged idea, if not
the dark whole to remind

myself of who I am not.
I am an Indian in your
gape, the headdress on fire,
the smoke of the always
tragic tale. I am the savage
in your origin story,

the outline of the feather,
the empty inside of
the stone bead. Use me,
break me on your ideas,
tear me into subtle shades
of the same figure,

only see what can be
believed, know only
what can be broken
to be made again only
to be broken more.
Remake me with your

speech, mold me with
your mouth into who
I was four worlds before,
when we both were
different sides of the
same forked tongue.






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