March 5, 2009

Song for Miranda

Introduction: This was written a few years ago. I was at a professional conference on interventions for working with abuse survivors. I met a group of social workers from Omaha, who had developed an equine therapy program for sexual abuse survivors. The team leader was named Miranda. I've forgotten her last name, but we had a great conversation about it and I found her work inspiring. Hence...
Song for Miranda

I.

This is a song for Miranda.
A song for her
When she wakes in the morning,
When she sings in the shower
And listens to the radio
On the way to work.

This is for her
when she sees the sun from the east
Striking the glass boxes of Omaha.

This is a song of the people,
Sung from long ago.
Sung for Miranda
Driving through the glass city
on her way to work.

This is a song for Miranda,
To sing to the children sleeping in the city
And to be a circle around them.
To be the grandfathers
And brave warriors;
The aunties
and grandmothers making stew.

To be the stallion
Rearing in anger,
Bringing his sharp hooves down
When the wolves gather.

II.

Before the time of the glass city
The people gathered
On the south bank of the Platte
Making camp on a high bluff
overlooking the river
Not far from Cedar Creek.

A Toyota dealer marks the spot
Where the people first saw bands of ponies
Grazing on new grass at the river’s edge
drinking from the Platte’s sweet water

the people wanted to ride like the wind
on the backs of the ponies
so quietly, the warriors crept
through the tall grass

nostrils flare as the stallion alerts
to the smell of the stalking warriors
the mares gather in a circle around the colts
the stallion wheels, and with a shrill cry
leads the band away from danger

Clouds of dust rise above the Platte
As pounding hooves carry the ponies
Away from the smell of the camp
Out of the reach of the warriors
Creeping quietly through the tall grass

above the river in gathering twilight
the women light the cookfires
for buffalo stew with meat from the last hunt
and wild carrots gathered by the river
the women sing to the children
and the Grandfathers tell their stories

the children are asleep under warm robes
in a circle by the fire,
Safe from wolves
and the dark human heart.

III.

In the glass boxes of Omaha
No campfires burn
To carry the smell of stew cooking
The children lie asleep in the city
but no circle surrounds them
No brave warriors protect them
And the dark heart is all around

From the glass boxes of Omaha
The dark human heart
Like a trader in commodities
Strikes a bargain
For the souls of the sleeping children
Like wolves
they stalk the stragglers
On their way to school in the morning
Baiting traps with candy
And bits of bright ribbon

Oh baby! make me cum inside u
Say the dark human hearts
To the children

The Grandfathers who watched over you
When you slept with the people
In the camp above the river
are drunk in the city
The mamas and aunties
who cooked stew for you
buffalo and wild carrots
Are crack whores now

you are alone
and only have me to protect u
My big cock will be your friend
It won’t hurt…I promise
And when I’m done
You’ll have candy…all you want
And a pretty dress to wear.

IV.

This is a song for Miranda
To sing to the children sleeping in the city
And to be a circle around them
To be the grandfathers
And brave warriors
The aunties
and grandmothers making stew

To be the stallion
Rearing in anger
Bringing his sharp hooves down
When the wolves gather










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DHL