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SIOUX-BLUE SKY
Standing under a Sioux-blue sky,
I
watch the tilling and planting
from my place of penetential seclusion.
I am a stranger
in a hostile land.
I watch the tilling and planting,
isolated, unable to understand.
I am a stranger in a hostile land.
My tears mingle with the dust.
Isolated,
unable to understand,
unseen as I hand the laundry out to dry,
my tears mingle with
the dust.
In Nebraska, I die a little every day.
Unseen as I hang the laundry out
to dry,
heartbroken bride of a prairie farmer,
in Nebraska, I die a little every
day,
standing under a Sioux-blue sky.
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