Love Poem from First Indian on the Moon
by Sherman Alexie
I was a fisherman for 15,000 years
before you stumbled onto my shore
your leg sea-heavy and awkward.
Do you remember?
How strange to know corn saved your life
but it's always simple gifts that matter most.
So when I give you a can of commodity corn
instead of a dozen roses
it doesn't mean I don't love you
it means I want to save you
from hunger, disease, the long winter.
I can wrap you in old blankets
that smell like me
and I can hold you
with these hands
that held the spear,
that still hold the tribe
inches above the surface
of this river, this water
still and almost perfect, waiting
for the sudden
motion of arm, that strike
of stone into flesh.
We have learned that love is never civilized.