Down at the Compound

The fire is down to embers
The sun is already behind the ridge
The hills are quiet with winter
Hunters in their four-wheel drive trucks and high-powered rifles
have all killed for sport and gone home.
Leaving behind a trail of beer cans,
wounded deer who went to die a quarter mile from where they
were hit,
the carcasses of deer thrown by the side of the road,
(head missing, work for the taxidermist).

Down at the compound
the soldiers give the Cherokee
flour and lard to live on

Another hunting season has come and gone.
Now it is time for Holly and Spice.
Eggnog and drunk driving fatalities.
These hills slumber in winter with memories of the sporting war.
Come spring the honeysuckle will cover the beer cans.
Doe will suckle new fawns.


Down at the compound
the soldiers give the young women
whiskey if they will dance naked for them
whiskey so they will fall down drunk
so the soldiers can rape them

Mountain mint is dried for tea
Colt's foot is put up for cold remedies
"Rat's vein" for kidney problems
Sassafras root for arthritis
The Medicine Plants the Earth provides for us
while in Washington, D.C. Congress works on bills to make
it illegal to sell these plants.

Down at the compound
The only thing you can make
with flour and lard is fry bread
After a few days everyone gets the runs.

The Pow-Wow came to town.
Everyone went to see the Indians dance
and eat fry bread.

Down at the compound
there was no shelter
and just a pit in the corner
The soldiers laugh at us when we have to go.


You say to me, "If you are an Indian
"Where is your war bonnet and peace pipe?
"If you are an Indian lets see you dance
like they did in front of our hotel in Santa Fe."

Down at the compound
the women all make a circle
and hold out their skirts
so the soldiers can't see the women needing to go

I was born in Knoxville, Tennessee
in a hospital on the banks of the Tennessee River
and I grew up on a small farm.
My father provided for his family by working in a factory.
I have lived all my life in these mountains.
I know their ways.

Down at the compound
the women cut the hair of those that dance
and drink with the soldiers
to try and make them less attractive

To some I am a White Indian
Because I am Cherokee
Because I don't live on a Reservation
Because I refuse to apply for a B.I.A. card

Down at the compound
the babies and the elderly die first
they are buried in one corner of the compound
by men too weak to dig very deep

Disillusioned by the city life
Many descendants of European immigrants are seeking out the
Native Ways.
Buying drums and sacred pipes.
Learning songs from cassette tapes.
Learning medicine from books written by anthropologist
written by lawyers with no apologies.

Down at the compound
the women are allowed out
to go to the creek for water.
The soldiers rape some of them
while they are away from the men.

I am a prisoner of war in my own homeland
These mountains are held prisoner also
Barbed wire and legal deeded papers
Plants that grow on the other side of the fence
can't be gathered to help the people
Deer that come when I am hungry
can't be shot out of season

Down at the compound
It is winter and supplies of flour and lard are low
Time to walk the survivors to Oklahoma.

Creator put me here for a reason
gave me a vision and a song
I live in a world that respects someone by the amount of money
that they earn
Creator gave me a song
I may not be much in this world
but I will go into the next one singing.

Down at the compound
Spirits wait for their people to come home.

Ho!

Oliver Loveday © 12/8/93/4pmEST