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Hogs rooted among the ancient dead
in the Ioway Indian graveyard
by a deserted village on Bear Creek near Fallis,
Lincoln County, named for the liberator.
White rags still float on the rotten poles
where the dead are housed above the ground,
at first bark covered, now slack and sagging.
Black jack brush divides the burials
adorned with bits of fluttering rags.
Where once the hungry hogs of the farmers fed
came missionaries rooting among the dead.
Twenty years ago a mission house stood on the hill-
side among the post oaktrees, one mile north of Fallis.
The chiefs, queens, bucks, young women, papooses
of the Ioway tribe learned here that
the Great Spirit was the Lord Jesus Christ.
Just west of here are the remains of the bark houses where people lived
decorated with the bones of buffalo, antelope, and wild turkey.
On the east is the graveyard,
burials on top of the ground covered with bark and tree limbs.
Chief Jefferson White Cloud was laid to rest
in the only casket on this spot.
The box with his bones were stolen by souvenir hunters.
He had fought in the Civil War on the Union side,
his people no slave holders.
General Grant had called Iowa the shining star of radicalism
but “the five civilized tribes,” assimilated in the deep south,
Brought their slaves with them.
The coming of the whites
advanced the Red Man
from smallpox blankets to dead branches.
They say the old mission house will be put on wheels
and put on show in the railroad station.
Shortly before his death Chief White Cloud was asked
What is the object of those old clothes on those bushes
The dead Indians,” he said, “like to come out of their boxes
and it might be snow. They need something to wear
so they won’t catch their death of cold.”
How can I still my mouth or rightly speak
with my face chewed like sugar cane.
when I die let the mourners be flies.
The scrub pines all sign the same
here where the trail disappears
Form asks shadow Where to
and spirit replies Here.
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