Read Poem: Indian’s Cry, by DMaria Woods

Barren no is the land that once flourished

through harsh and unpredictable weather.

Dusty is the floor, and deadly is the air that feels

so calm.

Oh, how the years have rearranged the

gentle landscape that I once knew so well,

now I hear wind songs in a far-off distance

it sounds like and Indian’s cry.

I pray for the scattered clouds to release

Its cleansing laughter,

I lift my hands skyward to heal all that has

been consumed.

Stand tall my crimson mountain, and the

Sun will rise again.

Have faith my little cactus, for the rains

promise new life.

Hard times are before you, but soon

they will become smooth like the face

of a pebble, hidden on the rivers bottom.