published in Volume 1, Issue 4 on September 15th, 1994
I stand in a crowd - listening to interpreters tell us of the loss - all around us is Lament. old men circle the guide telling him of their great- great-grandfather's uncle twice removed. Custer is not here. he's laying low at West Point. the irony escapes them - WWII & Vietnam vets can claim a part of this sacred soil - to tell the passing public of their want for proximity to the mass grave once removed. Atop the hill where the ants scurry to and fro with Panasonic camcorders. "take a still picture," I think, "for this in no time will move." your memory of it hangs dry in your mind. I myself, I'm just a wandering Canadian who happens to study the history of this anomaly known as America. so they tell me "they worship him 'cause he lost big time." led his men to death. screwed up. don't know why. that hangs heavy in my ears as I pass through two-dimensional towns of the Cheyenne reserve lands to the forest named after this in/famous man. It has long since burnt, as did the fields of Little Bighorn - to show the remains. To show the remains.