A Reflection Of Native American Genocide
God Against A Blue Sky
Sleeping woman. I see your full face in a three-quarter view
among strange rock formations of orange and blue and among the flowers which bloom with unique brilliance in the desert unspoilt by the light of the moon and the golden glory of the sun.
With graceful stance and poignant gestures dressed all in black, dark kerchief covering the white of your hair, there is no labor too heavy, as you serve with pride and with an indomitable spirit of liberty.
Weaving three-clad mountain valleys of lapis lazuli, looking neither to the right nor the left, conceptual art through naturalism in the most romantic of styles, you tell us familiar stories of heroes and lovers.
There is somberness in your eyes as floating dust kicks up by countless feet while you stop to beat criss-cross angles and patterns on the mounted masses of hanging
carpet.
Symbolic language of interwoven gold and silver threads
arranged in circular motions against vertical and horizontal arabesque motifs, mirrors a God against a blue sky weaving a basket hanging free from a half loom,
lining a baby's cradle with wool and bark.
Insignias, songs, rituals, and privileges bargain with honor
as war and peace alternate, often, in rapid succession.
God against a blue sky builds a canoe of hollowed out wood,
housing the dead gone out to sea.
A raven design inlaid with shell and red beads for eyes,
gives the account of the birth, death and resurrection
of a forgotten people hidden behind mountains.
Sleeping woman. I see your full face in a three-quarter view
among strange rock formations of orange and blue.
A biting satire of all the values we accept
as most normal,
and true.
