The Killing Ground

For days they traveled, the young man and the Yavapai girl

She told him her name and they spoke in the language

They rode the horses until they gave out

Then their throats were slit and meat was taken to eat later

No fires were lit

They ate berries and raw jackrabbit as well to keep going

After a week they relaxed more as they entered Apache area

They saw dust way off like dust-devils but they knew it was horses

They could hear shots and no more

When all was quiet a day later, they moved silently towards the killing ground

The buzzards told them the story before they got there

Dead white people, a lot of them, maybe a half dozen

Burnt wagons and arrows, but not from one tribe

Some of the arrows were different and shot hoof marks

And moccasin tracks that were shaped like a white man's way of walking

Some white men had done this loosely disguised as Apache

They took what they could use and walked on

The purple mountains and red ochre earth swallowed them up

And the young man smelt his own blood as they ran

And it was a good smell, the smell of being alive