Draft taken from Free Post from week 5.
"Scattered"
"Do not lean on the glass."
"Feel the hand stitched moccasins."
"Roll genuine arrowheads in your palms."
"Hear the aged war chants."
I remember when I first met you.
You smiled at me. Your face streaked
with paint, tinged with dormant November.
You stand in front of me, caught in mid-stride.
Steel rods nuzzled inside your calves.
The baked clay in your arm gone wishing well,
heavy with tourist's pennies.
The small plaque with its burnt copper script
calls you Grateful Hawk: proud member of the
Anasazi Nation. I call you Shannon and consider
what you've lost in the Las Vegas heat.
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