Tabletop rancheria,
Cow clusters scratch the hills,
Ruminating where the giants once feasted
(Or so the cupboards whisper).
The lightning split the tree and vanished
Like the white man
When he couldn't flatten out the land enough
For a golf course.
Tractors rust, gates squeak,
Casinos.
She may never come back.
She may never see this.
I wonder if she knew the city
Buried under the lake
Where
I found a key
Beneath the swollen rubble.
It was all over my head,
The vulture circling unnoticed
Feeding off the white man's disease.
