Manifest Restitution

From the four corners they arrive
A few come by air but mostly they drive
The news is exciting and on it they thrive
Yet the mood is most unusually subdued
They first relax, grasp arms and consume food
And give thanks that they’re all alive

The Till-Amook is represented by an aging man
And from the Yuma comes a girl with silent, steady hand
A Seminole whose blood still carries the legacy of his band
They cross burning deserts and once vibrant plains
Where Buffalo once roamed they now honk and change car lanes
And former gold fields where white men once panned

Soon the numbers increase with Blackfoot and Cree
Creek and Cheyenne proceed along with Shawnee
Followed by Mohawk, Iroquois and Comanche
They’ve all come to learn what to do
The Narraganset, the Apache and Sioux
As they mass under sun at the place called Wounded Knee

Natchez and Paiute join Ojibwa and Crow
Erie greets Kickapoo who embrace Miwok and Arapaho
Bannock first saw Muskogee and they all danced with Navajo
And the tribes keep coming for the whole of a week
Speaking in whispers; The Trail of Tears and Sand Creek
And the people soon fall silent as a lone man extends a bow

He would seem a most unlikely warrior, a modern type of brave
Educated by the white man yet his heritage did he crave
His people, one and all, would no longer be the slave
They would regain their birthright, the lost ancestral home
On all lands between the oceans where the waters rise and foam
And a culture, a way of life, he would save

As the tense and anxious crowd listened to his voice
They were told a wondrous story and that they finally had a choice
How they now had a weapon that the white man could not exploit
Yet many in the crowd seemed alarmed and almost shaken
They’d never really, in wildest dreams, believed their soil could be re-taken
But the speaker, on the stage, was quite convincing, was most adroit

He now explained, in measured terms, how he’d harnessed an awesome science
One that would, you could be certain, bring the white man into compliance
For you see, he had discovered, a power of unbeatable reliance
And the throng started throbbing, their skin all a tingle
Chanting and surging as they moved and they mingled
And with their new leader took an oath of defiance

As the ground shook below and the sky echoed thunder
One and all they stood and vowed to avenge their lost plunder
They would right and unite what the white man had torn asunder
And they pledged oaths to gods with terms nearly forgotten
So renouncing modern ways for the old ways, once begotten
Thereby reversing, all agreed, was the White God’s greatest blunder

Now with black skies up above they spoke of courage, they spoke of mettle
Exalting names from the past like Cochise and Black Kettle
Swearing now, and forever, with the white man they would settle
Then the clouds, so dark and close, broke apart in the middle
With the sun bursting through as though an answer to a riddle
And falling down, without a sound, a hundred million flower petals

Then all attention was directed back to the man upon the stage
His name was Worm-of-Book and his lineage was to Osage
And from the power of his voice his fierce commitment was clearly gauged
“From that which science has provided and by the gods’ hands I’m guided.
So if any amongst you still remain undecided….”
His voice trailed off, the air resonating with his rage

Now as the many who stood before him began to tremble, began to shake
The ground beneath them, once again, emulated an earthquake
And Worm-of-Book reassured them it was for their father’s sake
Then modern warriors marched on forward, bearing bow and deadly lance
And the thousands formed many circles and performed the Ghost Dance
With Worm-of-Book, his thirst for vengeance, he had now so slaked

“’The only good Indian is a dead Indian,’ that was once the white man’s words
We bargained fairly and signed treaties but despite this that’s what we heard.
They killed our people, our way of life, beneath blue sky and soaring bird.”
And as Worm-of Book continued speaking his words now shook with power
The flower petals that bathed the people were soon replaced with gentle shower
“For the final battle, the spirits tell me, for that, we must gird.”

Now Worm-of-Book told of a process he’d invented late one night
When the moon was on the rise and the owl had soared in flight
It would restore, to our people, both their land and righteous might
And then he spoke in what amounted to soft, near whispered tones
To reunite the chosen people, with their ancestors and their bones
He would issue an ultimatum and the white man could decide his plight

As the masses gathered forward, their breath was rapid and hearts beat fast
Worm-of Book explained that he had invented a most deadly gas
The time for talk was now over, they would reclaim their honored past
And then, amidst swirling winds, leaders spoke of coming pain
The gas had been so planted from California and on to Maine
Upon the wind, “Manifest Restitution,” would come at last

A proclamation was now issued to the U.S. Government
It demanded a return of the lands the tribes had “lent”
But they laughed in Washington, reminding tribes their day was spent
So Worm-of-Book made good his promise, unleashing death upon the air
And when the final tally tolled, the United States was human bare
As the spirits of Chief Joseph and Sitting Bull wailed in lament

“It was never our intention to destroy the human race
Where the blood of our ancestors seeped into soil that we embraced
But vengeance often is accompanied by a savage/remorseful face.”
And Dull Knife persuaded Crazy Horse, for all the compassion he could muster
They met the spirits of General Sherman and shook the hand of one called Custer
Then one and all escaped the pall into the unknown with quickened pace

A thousand years have now passed, comprising many generations
The Red Man’s spirit dances the plains in his final compensation
But the Ghosts are forever restless haunted by the devastation
Across a sea, so far away, Jew and Palestinian walk hand in hand
A toxic waste, the United States, have taught them blood is not the land
And a world, well versed in war, strives for peace and unification