Green Corn Dance

We chased spirits and held their hands
We ran to the pow wow and danced
in our dirty jeans and torn T-shirts
We kissed mouths we didn’t know,
then laughed at our shyness
We drank blood and got sick
We combed our hair, trying to look
like handsome Hollywood Indians
We dreamed on the roofs of rotting houses
and smiled when the rain fell on us
We skipped school and ran into the red sun,
went home, made parents out of our shadows
We passed bottles and ate fleas from our skin
We swam in the contaminated pond
and were reborn as damned reservation
kids who had no desire for themselves,
only for the best friend drowning at their side

Ashlie Allen writes fiction and poetry. Besides writing, she would like to become a photographer one day. Her work has appeared in Squawk Back, Burningword Literary Journal, The Screech Owl, Jet Fuel Review, and others.





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