Broken Flower
Inspired at a conference at the Walking Stick Foundation
Myra Weiner ©8/17/00

The petals of the rose
have been plucked from their stem,
one by one.
Her Beauty is shattered.


Black Sun, You shoot blood rays
through the heart of my people.
The petals of my children lie limpid
on the prairie for white men to trample.


Murderer of Spirit, Assassin-
Flee, flee into the night,
Like a deer, swift as the wind.
Run, run to the Underworld.
Dissolve into Night.


How does the Spirit return to my flowers?
Tunkasila, Wakan Tanka:
Heal, heal the broken soul of my people.
Restore blossoms to the World

On the wing of the humming bird,
On the tail of the fox,
On the scent of the bear,
On the beat of the drum.
Return, return to your people.

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