Pauline Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Pauline

She, my love, heroine.
Fought on the prairies.

Not only was woman
That was half Indian.

Unlike rest, her mother
Neither was squaw
Nor was raped.

So, was born in a house
That was a paradise
And glow with care, love.

She started to learn
The truth, and the pain
Of having mixed blood
At time when father died.

No bread at table,
Nobody seemed to care,
In the dark went friends
If knocked door to enter
She was an Indian.

Tired eyes opened to
Life set up for a poor.

Saw clouds were grey,
The blue was long dead.

Felt fire, ash, flame
All rising of ember.

The ember hid the words
Thanks to tongue of snake.

The serpents had easel
With brush, and canvas
On it wrote, and painted:
"Mixed-Blood is Savage! "