Ancestors

My breasts still bare the faded marks of our ravenous sex.
My heart, the scars of half-truths and lies unspoken,
That dance like feathers on the wind.

Braid my hair love, as in my dream,
And comb away the hurt that lingers there,
Woven deep within those silken threads, once pure,
Now knotted with self-doubt and recrimination.

In dreams I see the ghostly reminders of once great warriors,
Who walked these same valleys,
And stood, arms outstretched towards the Great Spirit,
As I do before you now:
Humbled and forlorn; bereft of all save love,
And the memories of those that came before.