"Our tribe will spring forth a race
of supermodels and understated movie stars
that will conquer the world.
With cheekbones like cake knives
and eyes as bright as Sioux suffering
they will sell perfume bottles, swimsuits
and delicate comedies
that will steal the white men's soul
just as he stole ours.

"Our lifestyles will be reduced to the names of cars, the
intermittent movie,
the struggle against cancerous alcoholism
and illiterate misery.
Only those who take white husbands,
white wives, will see their children
conquer while the rest of us
dance abandoned in front of Heaven
our headdresses used to sweep out
Kansas Stadium.  So go now,
and try to prepare for
the swelling of your liver
and the stampede of spirit animals
from this forsaken  place."

My great grandfather thanked him and left,
went to the saloon that night,
met my pale and homely great grandmother
and wooed her resolvedly.

Ninety two years later, here I am,
cake knives buried in putty,
myself a delicate comedy,
trying to sell empty Eternity bottles to you.
Step up.