The Spokane falls where ghosts of salmon
Foreseen by Sherman fill their gills
With Catholic gilt and white man’s mammon
To pay for rehabs and oil pills,
Basalt and concrete worn by water
Flowing genocidal slaughter,
Coyote’s unrequited love,
Alexie’s push that comes to shove.
The towns of Wellpinit and Reardan,
The left and right arms that draw
You to Spokane’s hungry maw,
Release you now; but do not harden
The paths of your own tears that trail
Down windows in Seattle’s vale.
Sherman Alexie
September 24, 2013 by at 6:04 am
I’ve only seen Smoke Signals. Must go straight to the source and read me some Alexie!
Mrs. Webb had a plan to marry him at one time.
Good poem. Wish he’d stayed in Spokane and made it a real hub of literature.
He must of knew he was beat, and skedaddled with his tail between his legs.