Thirty-Eight Hearts - Poem by Donald Fox
Thirty-eight drumbeats thundering in the cold
Thirty-eight breaths of a buffalo bull
Thirty-eight ropes of equal measured length
On a cold December morning while we wait.
Thirty-eight death chants or was that a hymn?
Thirty-eight warriors standing there on some wood
Thirty-eight pairs of hands reaching out for each other
To take away the sin of the world.
Thirty-eight songs by which to remember
Thirty-eight tears held tight in our hearts
Thirty-eight nights of insufferable dark
Breaking our drums, silencing our song.
Many long years of crying in grief
Many long years of denial and blindness
Many long years of numbness and sleep
Without relief, without a memory.
But the Dakota have never forgotten. We have never stopped.
Thirty-eight names read out loud again and again.
Thirty-eight children singing their songs.
Thirty-eight relatives in the midst of our circle.
Chanting again. Loving again. Being again.
Topic(s) of this poem: native american, perseverance, racism, survival, history
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Thirty-Eight Hearts by Donald Fox
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You