Telling a true story in prose poetry

[Sue Littleton]

Written after reading "Watch for Me on the Mountain, a novel of Geronimo and the Apache Nation," by Native American author and Storyteller in Council to the Cherokee Nations, Forrest Carter.

HOW GERONIMO GOT HIS NAME

Una moneda, señor, una moneda, por favor,
‘n I will tell you how that diablo Geronimo got his name!
He stole the name of a good Catholic saint — San Geronimo,
patron saint of Kaskiyeh,
the pueblito my father’s folks come from!
He was one of them Apache War Shamans,
and he took feroz mad against us mejicanos
when the soldados killed his young squaw ‘n their three niños.
The warriors was all out on a huntin’ party,
‘n militares from the guarnación in the pueblo,
they found the Apache camp, just wimmin ‘n kids ‘n old men —
them soldados, they killed a lot of indios that day!
My father’s mother, la abuelita,
she was a skinny little girl, nine or ten,
‘n she hid good when them Apaches come lookin’ for venganza,
shootin’ n’ burning.
She stayed hid ‘til next mornin’,
when hunnerts of buzzards circlin’ in the sky
‘n black smoke risin’ in big fat greasy clouds
sent word that somethin’ bad, somethin’ real bad,
had happened at Kaskiyeh.

Everyone was waitin’ for San Geronimo to show up
for Kaskiyeh’s feast day;
The saint was s’posed to appear out of the desert,
it was a holy play the priest had wrote —
when this short wide ugly indio
face painted across with yellow streaks
under eyes black and shiny as a rattlesnake’s,
‘n a mean turned-down mouth like a toad’s,
wearin’ boot moccasins and a breechclout,
hair all bushed out in a war cut,
a headband tied around it,
come walkin’ through the cactus ‘n rocks toward the village.

The church bells was ringin’
‘n all the soldados, who was mostly drunk by then,
n’ seein’ this indio wa’nt armed,
don’t have no gun or knife or nuthin’,
they started hollerin’ and shoutin’ and laughin’,
“Here comes San Geronimo!”
‘n pretty soon the whole pueblo was laughin’ and shoutin’
“Geronimo!” “Geronimo!”

That indio come right up to the open gates,
‘n he stuck his hand inside his polka-dot red shirt
‘n he took this little bow and arrow from under his blouse
‘n he notched it and drew it and that arrow flew
like a yellow-jacket wasp straight into the heart of the priest
who was waitin’ up on the podio for San Geronimo.
The indio made a little adios wave of his hand
‘n then he turned around
‘n all the soldados took out after him,
cussin’ ‘n yellin’ ‘n wavin’ rifles ‘n pistols ‘n sabers,
horseback ‘n on foot.

The dust was so thick,
the people in the pueblo couldn’t see nuthin’
so they all crowded up to the walls —
nobody thought of closin’ the gates, ‘cause they knew
the soldados was goin’ to cut that crazy indio’s head off
and bring it back hangin’ by its bushy black hair!
The población, they could hear yells and rifles firin’
‘n pretty soon all they hear was thuds ‘n groans
‘n then they don’t hear nuthin’. Nada.
The dust settles ‘n here come a soldado’s horse,
reins draggin’, empty saddle slick with blood,
‘n finally they seen them Apaches
just standin’ there, real quiet,
dead men ‘n dead horses all aroun’ ‘em.
Next thing them Apaches start screamin’ an’ runnin’
toward the pueblo.

Three hunnert Apaches
come down from Nuevo Mejico on foot,
no horses, ‘cause an Apache warrior,
he could go a hunnert miles
on a handful of piñon nuts ‘n a mouthful of water,
travelin’ at night
so wouldn’t nobody see a war party that big.
Geronimo, he led them soldados into an ambush,
lured ‘em out into the desert ‘n got ‘em all killed,
leavin’ the pueblo to be massacred.


That’s how Geronimo got his name,
that’s when he got to be War Leader
of them Chiricahua diablos,
‘n that was the end of the pueblo of Kaskiyeh —
even the big iron bells cracked
when they burned the church!

¡Ah, señor, gracias! ¡Gracias por su gentileza!

[Lightning Rod]

otro gracias

and welcome to the Studio

[Sue Littleton]

Lessee, how does that go ...? Abilene Texas in the rearview mirror -- I think I am really going to like it here!

[robertsnw]

reminded me of a beautiful song i haven't listened to in years "San Geronimo " by Red House Painters, one of the first "poetic" bands, writers, Mark Kozelek of Sun Kil Moon "fame", good read and brought back a melody to the mind that i'd forgotten., and am currently listening to as i reread this. Thank You

[Sue Littleton]

Thank you, Robert -- so glad you enjoyed it! Sue♥♥

[Arcadia]

I´m not for violence but I liked these lines... :

That indio come right up to the open gates,
‘n he stuck his hand inside his polka-dot red shirt
‘n he took this little bow and arrow from under his blouse
‘n he notched it and drew it and that arrow flew
like a yellow-jacket wasp straight into the heart of the priest
who was waitin’ up on the podio for San Geronimo.
The indio made a little adios wave of his hand
‘n then he turned around
‘n all the soldados took out after him,
cussin’ ‘n yellin’ ‘n wavin’ rifles ‘n pistols ‘n sabers,
horseback ‘n on foot.

bienvenida/o to the studio Sue!!!!!!!!!

[Sue Littleton]

Mil gracias, Arcadia! And thank you for the compliments on the poem-- Geronimo and his warriors finished the village of Kaskiyeh for all time. I remember reading this in a poetry criticism group once and a fellow poet, a woman, kept insisting that the name of the town should be changed, that it was unrealistic. Like, who ever heard of a Mexican town called "Kaskiyah"! Since Kaskiyah was actually the name of the little pueblo involved, I was hard put not to bash my critic over the head with a nearby bronze lamp, but as it wasn't my house and therefore not my lamp, I was forced to control myself ... I don't think that silly woman EVER understood that she was listening to a piece of history! Un abrazo, Sue ♥♥♥

[Stinkyfinger]

Very nice, Sue; I love it. It teems with the visions,..... ecstatic, demonstrative, and reminiscent,..... of a young or old, innocent or wizened bystander,...... maybe hot and coated in an oily grime, from the brutality of the sun on that day so long ago.

[Sue Littleton]

Thank you, Sir S.F.! All compliments-comments received joyfully(unless you protest the existence of Kaskiyeh). Un abrazo, Sue L.♥♥