A Poem by Rex Sexton

Sacred Rites

Moon Shadow was spiritual in the ancient Sioux way.
She spoke to the wind, the moon and the stars.
She married Night Walker on the top of Bear Butte.
It was a ceremony the Sacred Mountain had waited centuries to see.
That night, wild game crackled on spits.
There were drums, dancers, holy chants.
Night walker was a descendent of Medicine Men.
High chiefs traveled to Pine Ridge from faraway lands.
That was the legend.
Red Leaf drove in a daze.
His head was pounding.
His body pulsed with pain.
Was the Sacred Mountain getting closer?
He squinted through the desert blaze.
If he could make it to the mountain, his soul would return.
The jeep rocked on its wheel rims, bent out of shape.
Broken glass covered the dashboard, floor boards, seats.
His uniform was in shreds. His dog tags choked his neck.
He could walk faster, Red Leaf brooded, as he steered the creeping
jeep, if he were able to walk. He could swim the white rivers, leap
the quick streams, race though the forests, if he still had his legs.
Rainbow trout flew through the air.
Silver water cascaded down golden cliffs, crashing, careening along
tree lined river banks.
Rainbow trout leaping...
A rainbow arched across the sky.
The jeep rattled down the desert road, Red Leaf slumped inside,
until it hit another roadside bomb.

{Poem by Rex Sexton}