2016 01 14
Standing on wood porch of old trailer house,
Kathy White Horse stares across windswept plain
as evening wind swirls hair around her face.
Gazing down at torn photo in her hand,
that depicts young girl in high school who wears
beaded buckskin dress and necklace of shells,
she smiles sad and wipes tears from her black eyes.
"Where are you, Sarah, my sweet precious child?
Three weeks ago you went to work at dawn,
then called me after lunch time to explain
you would be late getting home after school.
But you vanished like wind in prairie grass
and your cell phone rings and rings when I call.
Police I called wrote down your name and age,
and copied photo of you I supplied,
then said they would call me if they could find
information about where you might be.
You disappeared as if you never were,
and now I doubt my memories of your face.
I remember when we attended gathering
of our tribe last summer on river shore
how you fancy-danced with elegant grace
and sang our tribal songs with charming voice.
My darling daughter, what happened to you?
I hope you are safe, wherever you are.
I hope you are at least alive, my dear."
Searing grief grips her heart, and stinging tears
of horror bleed sorrow from her blurred eyes.
"You are my flower that vanished in wind.
Will you sprout again from soil of despair?"
Stars of ice twinkle with indifferent glare
as snow begins to fall on silent plains.