This poem has been gestating for a while and finally reached a point where I can share it. It bears on a theme in Red Clay, Blood River, but is rooted in a particular image from our own locale.
I am not sure whether its local context still bears a wider message, but here it is.
Legless
he stands,
bronze torso
stubbed in stone,
before the white man’s preaching hall.
Eyes gazing north,
he feels yet the icy breath
of wisdom lost.
Legs in irons,
he was forced to Oklahoma,
bound by broken promises.
Legs unbroken brought him back
to pointless honor
in the hills he loved.
Legs now lost in concrete mute of memory,
wander with the spirits,
looking for their Junaluska,
looking for the man
to walk him home again.