Henry and Star

A short narrative about my Cherokee Grandfather and all our people in Oklahoma.

This faded picture

Fingered with light touch,

My Grandfather,

With his Stevens fedora,

His eyes in the shadow of the brim,

Mounted on the horse called Star,

Dusty fields for background,

In Oklahoma

No, it was Cherokee Nation then,

Living a rough and ready life,

Ranch work; sunlight and moonlight,

But the story took another path,

Flames of greed across our nation,

The land divided against our will,

Lost to the lawyers at last,

In Oklahoma

The family straggled westward,

Became migrant workers,

Picking fruit in California,

Until the war brought better work,

A welder in an Oakland shipyard,

And war ended and he returned,

Spent the last days dying young,

In Oklahoma

Ask what there is to know,

Even Grandma won’t say much,

“Born in Indian territory”

Before Oklahoma

“Half Cherokee”

 “Those were hard days”

Focus on the tattered image,

Horse and rider cast a long shadow

Author's Note

Maybe I'm touching on some political subject here without necessarily making that the emphasis.