WEBVTT

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Here's a poem called
"In My Lifetime."

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Which is a poem written--

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I grew up pretty much
in Northern Montana.

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On two reservations.

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I was born on the
Blackfeet Reservation

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and I lived for several years
on the Fort Belknap Reservation.

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Which is just about in
north central Montana.

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And this poem takes place on
the Fort Belknap Reservation.

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This day the children of
Speakthunder run the wrong man.

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A saint unable to
love a weasel way.

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Able only to smile and drink the
wind that makes the others go.

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Trees are ancient in his breath.

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His bleeding feet tell a
story of run the sacred way.

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Chase the antelope
naked till it drops.

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The odor of run,
quiet in its blood.

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He watches cactus
jump against the moon.

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Moon is speaking woman
to the ancient fire.

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Always woman.

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His sins were numerous,
this wrong man.

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Buttes were good to listen from.

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With thunder hands, his
father shaped the dust.

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Circled fire, tumbled up
the wind to make a fool.

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Now the fool is dead.

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His bones go back,
so scarred in time.

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The buttes are young
to look for signs.

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That say a man
could love his fate.

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That winter in the
blood is one sad thing.

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His sins, I don't explain.

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Desperate in my song.

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I run these woman hills.

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Translate wind to
mean a kind of life.

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The children of
Speakthunder are never wrong

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and I am rhythm to
strong medicine.

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