ten little indians
one in three Native American or Alaska Native women will be raped at some point in their lives

sometimes the story is told differently: one little, two little, three little indians
or not told at all. most know one story about indian boys torn
between reservation and cities. tradition:
bear root sage drumbeats
history and what’s left?
bear turned to beer

dances to drunken driving, the stereotypical drunken indian
and maybe we’re all gambling our lives away four little,
five little, six little indians and it’s not just the boys,
but our princesses too. per capita
has made some greedy. for, blood
quantum has turned us needy,
craving to make ourselves whole.

babies born into broken wombs, in a community
where ten little indian boys should learn
how to be men. instead, we ask:
do they remember? how
to touch a woman

with respect. the old dances taught us,
she chooses you seven little, eight little, nine little indians,
ten little indian boys sit on the bus listening –
their older cousins joke and tease, “see…
that girl in baggy sweats about to get on?
she had a train pulled on her this weekend.”

they laugh, the little indian boys do, not knowing someday
not too long from now men will gather around a fire
singing forty-nine songs about

love. maybe their father’s never taught them
how to touch her, that loving her didn’t mean taking her
blacked out where she wakes up not remembering, not remembering:

ten little, nine little, eight little indians,
seven little, six little, five little indians,
four little, three little, two little indians.
one little indian boy.