Last Real Indians

January 9, 1879 Northern Cheyenne Breakout Run by Cinnamon Spear

January 9, 1879

My ears have heard the stories

Cheyenne spirit knows the pain


Forced removal from homelands

Government-imposed imprisonment


I do not want to see blood

Spilt about this agency.

If you send your soldiers,

First let me get a distance away.


No spinning in a single ray of sunlight for warmth

No scraping frost off windows for water

No eating leather moccasins for food


Melodic voices fill locked wooden barracks

Suicide songs

Our Journey Song

Freeze, starve, die imprisoned or fight

In the middle of the night

Stars witness dark escape


Run. Don’t look. Don’t stop. Run home.


Glass shatters

Windows birth women, children, babies

Trained not to cry

Rifles sound

Fresh blood, white snow

Death on a doorstep


Fleeing for the future

Each footprint etches freedom


Lovers cornered, almost captured

You shall not be taken south!

As he plunges knife

Into wife’s chest


Both saved from surrender


Children hide in the Last Hole


All were shot


Youngest: 2 years old


As you read this history

My heart beats this history


And as you walk this earth

We walk this hurt


Please remember

We will never forget


Cinnamon Spear Copyright 2011