Back when I used to be Indian
I am counting the stars
in the night of my mother’s eyes.
Five, four, three.
Her husband is heaped in the corner,
chains rattling in his throat.
She groans and lifts herself
finally from the floor. A bone explodes
in her neck. She begins to spin.
Two, one.
The darkness pulls me.
Another glowing cinder drops
out of the sky.