The pipes had been smoked
Our chief, Black Kettle
Had spoken
The White Man could be trusted
Surely
No harm would come
She thought
Cradling her baby tight
Looking up only briefly
The tepee flap opened
A blue-coated soldier
Sword swinging at her neck.
(Previously published in Poets4Peace, Nov.2000)
Laurence Overmire
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sand-creek-1864/
