SHE LOST HER BEAUTY LONG AGO
She lost her beauty long ago,
her face resembling more a rose hip
than a dried prune – oblong, smooth, hard.
Her ancestors, high desert dwellers,
would think her of another clan,
another nation, another family stock.
But she was not. Full blood Apache she was,
with pride and bearing that spoke in silent
testament to generations of nomads who,
unfettered, wandered the mesas, mountains,
valleys and plains of a desert Southwest.
That ended of course. Ancient history.
Her given name was Blue Feather
but her secret name was Wasp.
Wasp… No one but she and her uncle
knew why and neither would tell.
And no one would ask. It was not
the way of the White Mountain Apache.
One could sense the early beauty of youth
in her smooth features and grey black hair,
plaited in a single roll that fell down her back
to a waist of no more than two hands.
It was only when she stood and walked
from grinding maize that one noticed the limp.
The limp, stigmata of a hard life,
she wore with no admission of weakness.
Caught unawares, it was the limp that killed her
when the long knives, like an autumn storm,
eviscerated the village. And she, limping
to her wickiup, was cut down as if a stalk of wheat.
Regis McCafferty
New Mexico 2008