The Lonesome Death of Helen Betty Osborne

It was the same auburn hair
but her body lay bare
where the night had left it cold
and shaking for home.

Her mother was strong and
shook free of the law
cried "come awake child
and for god's sake come home."

I whispered her name and
finally she came to me baring
the holes she'd named
and pieces she'd saved.

I said "child you're a mess
let's just try and forget that
their names were all well known
and your story well told."

It was a frightening dream
one of colours and screams
from a girl whose Indian blood
was fresh on the snow
where the steam freely rose
from those 52 holes that they'd left
in her chest, in her head, in her hands.