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Elk Skin Robe


Deep in Montana
Blackfeet Indians lay.
Cooking by a fire,
shivering for heat,
endeavoring warmth and peace

An elk comes running
downhill, through the forest.
Chief grabs his arrow.
Piercing the torso,
nothing wasted or mistreated.

Sharpening the bones
into small and large knives,
hearty meat to feast on,
skin shaved for a robe—
Like striking gold, not cold or keen.

A striking white robe
laid on by the Blackfeet,
highlighted with horses
propped in a showcase.
Memories infest within.




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