Poem: "Not Alone in Your Struggles"
This poem came out of the April 2, 2024 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from janetmiles,rix_scaedu, and Dreamwidth user Siliconshaman. It also fills the "You are not alone." square in my 4-1-23 card for the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool with DW user Fuzzyred. It belongs to the Iron Horses thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes accusations of theft, teen homelessness, suspicion and hostility, rude language, past abuse in foster care, past underage sex trafficking, reference to extreme genital injury of a molester, running away, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Not Alone in Your Struggles"
[Monday, November 2, 2015]
"Warshirt, I've got a tip for you,"
said Lin Growing Thunder. "I think
you're better suited to following up
on this situation than I would be."
Warshirt slouched against
the side of a building. "Why?"
"Because you've got a knack
for handling wild young things,"
said Lin. "All they see when
they look at me is the cop,
not the Willow Woman."
"Point," he conceded.
"All right, what's going on?"
"I've been hearing rumbles
from Cut Bank," said Lin.
"First it was a string of thefts,
and now reports of a girl
living on the streets."
"That's just outside
of our jurisdiction,"
Warshirt pointed out.
Cut Bank was a town
on the east side of
Cut Bank Creek, while
the Blackfeet Reservation
was on the west side.
"Not when the problem
is an Indian girl," said Lin.
"Blackfeet?" said Warshirt.
"No telling," Lin said, shaking
her head. "Could be Blackfeet,
Chippewa, Crow, Sioux, or
just about anything else."
"No rumors of who she
might be?" said Warshirt.
"If anyone knows, they
haven't said," Lin replied.
"I did check the Flathead,
Little Shell, and Rocky Boy's
lists of missing children and
women, as well as ours. She
doesn't match any of those."
"Give me a picture of her, or
a description," said Warshirt.
"She has light copper skin and
long black hair --" Lin began.
"That fits most tribal girls
in Montana," said Warshirt.
"Well, this one has the muzzle
of a wolf, so I don't think that
you'll mistake her," said Lin.
"Okay, I'll head out to Cut Bank
and look around," said Warshirt.
"I can tell Spotted Deer that you
might be late for supper," said Lin.
"I'll let her know it's a favor for me."
"Thanks," said Warshirt. He and
Spotted Deer fit together pretty well,
but it was still nice to get a helping hand
when he had to disrupt their usual routine.
Warshirt climbed into his truck. It was
a little over half an hour from Browning
to Cut Bank. Easy distance for a day trip,
but he had to figure on spending time
to track down the girl and talk to her
before he could head back home.
The drive was quiet and gave him
time to think about a plan of action.
Warshirt knew Cut Bank well enough,
but today he would have to look at
the place through different eyes.
He needed to figure out where
to search for the girl he sought.
So as soon as he reached the mall,
he pulled over to look at a map.
U.S. Highway 2 came into
the northwest edge of town
and ran through the middle.
The town was further divided
by the railroad tracks that ran
just north of the highway, leaving
about a third of the inhabited area
up in "North Track" and the rest
of it down in "South Track."
On the way into town, there was
the Northern Village Shopping Center
right off Highway 2, which had a mall
and its little cluster of outbuildings.
Almost all of the facilities were along
Highway 2, where it was labeled as
Main Street, between Railroad Street
and 1st Street Southeast, and most
of them lay somewhere between
3rd Avenue Southwest and
4th Avenue Southeast.
Outside that little rectangle,
the town was mostly houses,
or in some cases trailers.
The whole thing only filled
about one square mile, being
a mile and a half on its long axis
and a mile on its short axis.
You could walk the length
in a just few minutes, but
would you really want to?
Most of what you'd need
would be in that center bit.
If what you wanted was
to go unnoticed, you could
either stay central and hide
in as much of a crowd as
Cut Bank ever had, or you
could stick to the fringes.
Plus North Track had less
to offer than South Track,
so that further reduced
the likely search area.
Warshirt decided that he
could start by scoping out
the shopping center first, then
walk down the middle of town.
If he hadn't gotten lucky by then,
he could get back in his truck
and drive around the fringes.
Warshirt hopped out of
his truck and headed
toward the mall entrance.
The day was cloudy and
the temperature had been
hovering just above freezing,
along with a light breeze that
a good coat could block --
if you actually had a coat.
That made it a great day
to wander around town
checking for the kinds of
places where a loose teen
might choose to hole up.
He hit Glacier Pharmacy,
Cut Bank Big Sky Foods,
Norman's Outdoor Sports
and Norman's Western Wear
which also leased a space to
Big Sky Aquariums & Pet Supply.
None of those seemed like places
for a wild young thing to hang out.
Inside the mall entrance was an atrium
with a sitting area, the Snack Shop,
and the Village Stall Market.
Those were more promising,
but Warshirt saw no signs
of the girl he was seeking.
He make a quick skim through
Albertson's supermarket and
O'Malley's fast food, then
finally the Motel Super 8.
He didn't bother checking
the Mall Office Building with
the manager's apartment --
she'd avoid official places.
Warshirt rambled southeast,
stopping here and there to look
into little nooks or ask people.
The clerk at Curiously Artistic
warned him away from her,
but also dropped a name.
"Watch your pockets
around Kay," the boy said.
"Why?" Warshirt asked.
"It's not that anyone has
actually seen her stealing,"
the clerk said. "It's just that
she's around, and then ...
stuff turns up missing."
So Warshirt added
the name Kay when
asking other people.
West Main Offices
was a mishmash of
several businesses, but
only Pattiwagon Press
was familiar with Kay.
"Yeah, she's a fly girl,"
said the printer. "We pay
teens to distribute flyers for
our printing clients as well
as our books. Kay's good,
usually earns a bonus since
she can walk all over town
without running out of energy."
Warshirt wondered if Kay had
the wolfish ability to travel
tirelessly all day long.
He ran into other people
who accused her of stealing,
but none of them claimed that
they'd actually caught her at it.
At least he had confirmation
that she hung around the center
of town instead of the fringes.
Big Sky Café was the kind of
little eatery that would attract
someone avoiding larger chains.
"She will clean off the sidewalk
and benches for a sandwich,"
the waiter said. "We get
a handful of teens doing it.
Kay doesn't like to come
inside, though, so I just
take hers outside for her."
Yeah, there were plenty of
places in Browning where
you could work for a meal.
Warshirt knew, because
he had done that himself.
Central Avenue offered
several places nearby
that seemed worthwhile.
The Wolves Den Bar
was small and seedy,
just the kind of place that
wild young things loved.
When Warshirt described
Kay, though, the bartender
looked away instead of replying.
Maybe she was sneaking in, or
maybe they didn't look too closely
at whatever ID she might have.
Then again, maybe they let her in
because she was a wolf, and he
wasn't about to mess with that.
The Garden of Eat-In turned out
to be another place where Kay
sometimes traded work in
exchange for a hot meal,
but again, she didn't like
to go into the restaurant.
Crazy Heifer Boutique
required assurances that
Warshirt was not police,
not Family Services, and
not going to bother Kay.
Only then did the seamstress
finally say, "She pays me to do
the alterations for her. She can't
wear a lot of things right off the rack,
because of her tail and stuff, and I
don't think she knows how to sew."
The Marketplace on Main was
another building that housed
a bunch of different businesses.
Made in Montana Gifts and Groceries
offered souvenirs and foods from
local crafters and producers.
It was the 2D Art Studio
that made the difference.
"Kay's a great source of
found objects for our artists,"
said the bohemian lady in charge.
"We pay her a little in cash and
let her use the coffee station in
the back lounge, so she tends
to hang around here a lot."
Warshirt followed his nose
to the lounge, which had
a coffee station against
one wall stocked with
a coffee machine and
a water heater along with
a tray of various condiments.
Against the other wall was
a couch with his quarry
curled in a corner of it.
She had the wolfish face
that Lin had described, but
she also had a fine coat of fur
and claws instead of fingernails.
She glared at him, a growl
rising softly from her throat.
Warshirt couldn't help but smile
when he saw her. He always had
a soft spot for wild young things.
It made her growl louder, so he quit.
He greeted her the way he would
a natural wolf: he met her gaze,
looked down to avoid a challenge,
and then looked back to show
that he considered them equals.
"Who the fuck are you?" she said,
suspicious of a stranger watching her.
"I'm Warshirt, a tribal warrior from
the Blackfeet Nation," he said.
"I'm pleased to meet you ...?"
"Kayla Not Afraid, from the Crow,"
she said, and yeah, it really fit her.
"What do you want with me?"
"I heard about you from a friend,"
said Warshirt. "We've been working
with some young folks who escaped
from a terrible place. People are
concerned about you and they
wonder if you might have been
involved or if you need any help."
"I can take care of myself,"
Kayla said. "I don't need help."
"Okay," Warshirt said easily. He
ambled over to the coffee station
and poured a cup for himself.
That was pretty good coffee.
"You look tough enough."
"I've had to be," said Kayla. "I
grew up on the Crow Reservation,
got into and out of trouble, then
I got stuck in a group home."
"You're one of the stolen children,"
Warshirt said, frowning. "You
should have gone to a relative."
Kayla shrugged. "Protection's
for the white kids," she said.
"Protection is for everyone
who needs it," said Warshirt.
"Group homes are wretched."
One of his war buddies had
come out of a group home,
and you couldn't touch Terry
while he was asleep or else
he'd belt you before he woke up
enough to realize who you were.
"Yeah well, I didn't spend a lot of
time there," Kayla said. "As much
as I could, I stayed out or snuck out."
"It's sensible to avoid a bad place,"
Warshirt said. "So good for you."
"For a while," said Kayla. "Then
I got caught by these big guys,
who dumped me at a whorehouse."
"My friend was held in a place
called Merry Acres Ranch,"
said Warshirt. "Since I met her,
we've been finding other girls
from there, all over the state."
Kayla dipped her chin. "Yeah,
that was the place," she said.
"If you know anyone who might
be interested, there are funds
for the survivors," said Warshirt.
"The Blackfeet Nation has offered
to care for those with totem gifts."
"I don't need handouts," Kayla said.
"I can get by with odd jobs and stuff."
"Of course you can," said Warshirt.
"You're very powerful, to show
your totem gifts on your skin."
"After this happened, most
of the fuckers didn't want
me anymore," said Kayla.
"If I had their names, or
even descriptions of them,
then I could make their lives
very difficult," Warshirt offered.
Kayla snarled a grin. "You don't
have to worry about the last one
there," she said. "He tried to screw
my face, and I bit his fuckin' junk off."
"Aho, warrior!" said Warshirt.
"It's a good memory," she said.
"After that, though, I got sold again.
I guess that was the last straw."
"Out of the frying pan, and
into the fire," said Warshirt.
"So what did you do then?"
"What do you do, when you have
had enough of the world around you,
but leaving is well-nigh impossible?"
Kayla said quietly. "You walk. So I did."
"You must have a lot of stamina, to get
this far away," said Warshirt. "That's
a very useful gift to have around."
"Yeah, if a town gets uncomfortable,
then I just walk or hitchhike to another,"
Kayla said, mouthing the rim of her cup.
"Dammit, I've run out of coffee."
Warshirt held out a hand. "May
I refill that for you?" he asked.
"Sure, why not," Kayla said,
and passed him her cup.
Warshirt drained his own
and went to refill both.
"Do you want sugar,
creamer, syrup, or
anything else in this?"
Warshirt asked as he
poured the coffee.
"Ugh, no," she said.
"Leave mine black."
"It's your choice,"
Warshirt said as he
handed her the cup.
"I've been doing fine
here," said Kayla. "I can
find odd jobs, and nobody
tries to fuck me anymore."
"That's good," said Warshirt.
"It's terrible to offend the spirits
by harming their chosen ones.
They might leave us all to starve."
"I don't even know why I'm telling
you all this," Kayla muttered.
"Usually I keep it to myself."
"Some stories need to be
told," Warshirt replied.
"I don't like how people
look at me when they know,"
Kayla said. "I don't need pity."
"Well, maybe I can make you
a better offer," said Warshirt.
"There's a place for you on
the Blackfeet Reservation if
that's something you'd like."
"I've got places to stay here,"
Kayla said. "I'm doing fine."
"Places suitable for winter?"
said Warshirt. "It's getting cold."
"I have fur," Kayla said, and
buried her nose in her coffee.
"Besides, nobody wants a bitch
in the house. I'm better off alone."
That sounded like a direct quote,
and Warshirt would love to punch
whoever had said it to Kayla.
"You are not alone in your pain.
You are not alone in your struggles.
You are not alone in your journey,"
said Warshirt. "You are not alone,
and you will get through this."
"I'm always alone," she insisted.
"All people see when they look
at me is what I've become."
"What happened to you is
horrible but that is all it is --
a thing that happened to you,"
said Warshirt. "You are not alone
in this. You are not defined by it."
"Tell that to the people who see
me as a charity case," Kayla said.
"I'd be happy to," said Warshirt.
"Point me in their direction."
Kayla looked away. "Don't
worry about it," she said.
"If they bug me too much, I
can just go somewhere else."
"Or you could find better people
to be with," Warshirt suggested.
"I could make some introductions."
"I don't need anyone," Kayla insisted.
"I'm stronger on my own. I'm free."
"Never underestimate the power of
community. There is always someone
who cares, who understands, and who
is willing to support you," said Warshirt.
"You are not alone in your fight, and
you are never abandoned."
Kayla snorted. "And what
am I supposed to do with that,
put it on toast and eat it for
breakfast?" she said. "I can't
afford any sign of weakness,
it's an invitation to attack."
Warshirt knew that feeling.
He'd faced it himself.
He also knew that
feelings could lie to you.
"We all have moments of
weakness, but it's important to
remember that you are not alone in
facing such challenges," said Warshirt.
"Others have walked similar paths,
and they are here to support you."
"The hell you know about it?"
Kayla snapped. "You ever
been fucked for a living?"
"No, but I've been to war,
which is a different kind
of hell," said Warshirt.
"Yeah, I've heard about
that from other folks on
the street," said Kayla.
"You don't have to stay
on the street if you don't
want to," said Warshirt. "I
know people who'd be happy
to offer you a place to stay."
"And then they'd want
something for it, or they'd
think they had a right to tell
me what to do," said Kayla.
"I didn't work this hard to get
loose just to piss it away
because it might snow."
"Definitely will snow,"
Warshirt pointed out.
"We are in Montana."
"Screw this, I'm outta here,"
Kayla snarled, glaring at him.
"Don't you come looking for me."
Warshirt spread his hands.
"All right, I won't bother you
for the next moon," he said.
"I'm not comfortable giving you
longer than that. Winter's coming."
Kayla flipped him off as she walked
away with the stiff-legged gait of
a dominant wolf who was entirely
willing to stand up for herself.
Warshirt let her go. He
would keep his word.
It'd give him time to talk
with Matthew Black Wolf
and see what advice he had.
Once Kayla was out of sight,
Warshirt allowed himself to smile.
That had been a great first meeting.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its location and content notes appear separately.
Warning: This poem contains intense and controversial topics. Highlight to read the more detailed warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes accusations of theft, teen homelessness, suspicion and hostility, rude language, past abuse in foster care, past underage sex trafficking, reference to extreme genital injury of a molester, running away, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Not Alone in Your Struggles"
[Monday, November 2, 2015]
"Warshirt, I've got a tip for you,"
said Lin Growing Thunder. "I think
you're better suited to following up
on this situation than I would be."
Warshirt slouched against
the side of a building. "Why?"
"Because you've got a knack
for handling wild young things,"
said Lin. "All they see when
they look at me is the cop,
not the Willow Woman."
"Point," he conceded.
"All right, what's going on?"
"I've been hearing rumbles
from Cut Bank," said Lin.
"First it was a string of thefts,
and now reports of a girl
living on the streets."
"That's just outside
of our jurisdiction,"
Warshirt pointed out.
Cut Bank was a town
on the east side of
Cut Bank Creek, while
the Blackfeet Reservation
was on the west side.
"Not when the problem
is an Indian girl," said Lin.
"Blackfeet?" said Warshirt.
"No telling," Lin said, shaking
her head. "Could be Blackfeet,
Chippewa, Crow, Sioux, or
just about anything else."
"No rumors of who she
might be?" said Warshirt.
"If anyone knows, they
haven't said," Lin replied.
"I did check the Flathead,
Little Shell, and Rocky Boy's
lists of missing children and
women, as well as ours. She
doesn't match any of those."
"Give me a picture of her, or
a description," said Warshirt.
"She has light copper skin and
long black hair --" Lin began.
"That fits most tribal girls
in Montana," said Warshirt.
"Well, this one has the muzzle
of a wolf, so I don't think that
you'll mistake her," said Lin.
"Okay, I'll head out to Cut Bank
and look around," said Warshirt.
"I can tell Spotted Deer that you
might be late for supper," said Lin.
"I'll let her know it's a favor for me."
"Thanks," said Warshirt. He and
Spotted Deer fit together pretty well,
but it was still nice to get a helping hand
when he had to disrupt their usual routine.
Warshirt climbed into his truck. It was
a little over half an hour from Browning
to Cut Bank. Easy distance for a day trip,
but he had to figure on spending time
to track down the girl and talk to her
before he could head back home.
The drive was quiet and gave him
time to think about a plan of action.
Warshirt knew Cut Bank well enough,
but today he would have to look at
the place through different eyes.
He needed to figure out where
to search for the girl he sought.
So as soon as he reached the mall,
he pulled over to look at a map.
U.S. Highway 2 came into
the northwest edge of town
and ran through the middle.
The town was further divided
by the railroad tracks that ran
just north of the highway, leaving
about a third of the inhabited area
up in "North Track" and the rest
of it down in "South Track."
On the way into town, there was
the Northern Village Shopping Center
right off Highway 2, which had a mall
and its little cluster of outbuildings.
Almost all of the facilities were along
Highway 2, where it was labeled as
Main Street, between Railroad Street
and 1st Street Southeast, and most
of them lay somewhere between
3rd Avenue Southwest and
4th Avenue Southeast.
Outside that little rectangle,
the town was mostly houses,
or in some cases trailers.
The whole thing only filled
about one square mile, being
a mile and a half on its long axis
and a mile on its short axis.
You could walk the length
in a just few minutes, but
would you really want to?
Most of what you'd need
would be in that center bit.
If what you wanted was
to go unnoticed, you could
either stay central and hide
in as much of a crowd as
Cut Bank ever had, or you
could stick to the fringes.
Plus North Track had less
to offer than South Track,
so that further reduced
the likely search area.
Warshirt decided that he
could start by scoping out
the shopping center first, then
walk down the middle of town.
If he hadn't gotten lucky by then,
he could get back in his truck
and drive around the fringes.
Warshirt hopped out of
his truck and headed
toward the mall entrance.
The day was cloudy and
the temperature had been
hovering just above freezing,
along with a light breeze that
a good coat could block --
if you actually had a coat.
That made it a great day
to wander around town
checking for the kinds of
places where a loose teen
might choose to hole up.
He hit Glacier Pharmacy,
Cut Bank Big Sky Foods,
Norman's Outdoor Sports
and Norman's Western Wear
which also leased a space to
Big Sky Aquariums & Pet Supply.
None of those seemed like places
for a wild young thing to hang out.
Inside the mall entrance was an atrium
with a sitting area, the Snack Shop,
and the Village Stall Market.
Those were more promising,
but Warshirt saw no signs
of the girl he was seeking.
He make a quick skim through
Albertson's supermarket and
O'Malley's fast food, then
finally the Motel Super 8.
He didn't bother checking
the Mall Office Building with
the manager's apartment --
she'd avoid official places.
Warshirt rambled southeast,
stopping here and there to look
into little nooks or ask people.
The clerk at Curiously Artistic
warned him away from her,
but also dropped a name.
"Watch your pockets
around Kay," the boy said.
"Why?" Warshirt asked.
"It's not that anyone has
actually seen her stealing,"
the clerk said. "It's just that
she's around, and then ...
stuff turns up missing."
So Warshirt added
the name Kay when
asking other people.
West Main Offices
was a mishmash of
several businesses, but
only Pattiwagon Press
was familiar with Kay.
"Yeah, she's a fly girl,"
said the printer. "We pay
teens to distribute flyers for
our printing clients as well
as our books. Kay's good,
usually earns a bonus since
she can walk all over town
without running out of energy."
Warshirt wondered if Kay had
the wolfish ability to travel
tirelessly all day long.
He ran into other people
who accused her of stealing,
but none of them claimed that
they'd actually caught her at it.
At least he had confirmation
that she hung around the center
of town instead of the fringes.
Big Sky Café was the kind of
little eatery that would attract
someone avoiding larger chains.
"She will clean off the sidewalk
and benches for a sandwich,"
the waiter said. "We get
a handful of teens doing it.
Kay doesn't like to come
inside, though, so I just
take hers outside for her."
Yeah, there were plenty of
places in Browning where
you could work for a meal.
Warshirt knew, because
he had done that himself.
Central Avenue offered
several places nearby
that seemed worthwhile.
The Wolves Den Bar
was small and seedy,
just the kind of place that
wild young things loved.
When Warshirt described
Kay, though, the bartender
looked away instead of replying.
Maybe she was sneaking in, or
maybe they didn't look too closely
at whatever ID she might have.
Then again, maybe they let her in
because she was a wolf, and he
wasn't about to mess with that.
The Garden of Eat-In turned out
to be another place where Kay
sometimes traded work in
exchange for a hot meal,
but again, she didn't like
to go into the restaurant.
Crazy Heifer Boutique
required assurances that
Warshirt was not police,
not Family Services, and
not going to bother Kay.
Only then did the seamstress
finally say, "She pays me to do
the alterations for her. She can't
wear a lot of things right off the rack,
because of her tail and stuff, and I
don't think she knows how to sew."
The Marketplace on Main was
another building that housed
a bunch of different businesses.
Made in Montana Gifts and Groceries
offered souvenirs and foods from
local crafters and producers.
It was the 2D Art Studio
that made the difference.
"Kay's a great source of
found objects for our artists,"
said the bohemian lady in charge.
"We pay her a little in cash and
let her use the coffee station in
the back lounge, so she tends
to hang around here a lot."
Warshirt followed his nose
to the lounge, which had
a coffee station against
one wall stocked with
a coffee machine and
a water heater along with
a tray of various condiments.
Against the other wall was
a couch with his quarry
curled in a corner of it.
She had the wolfish face
that Lin had described, but
she also had a fine coat of fur
and claws instead of fingernails.
She glared at him, a growl
rising softly from her throat.
Warshirt couldn't help but smile
when he saw her. He always had
a soft spot for wild young things.
It made her growl louder, so he quit.
He greeted her the way he would
a natural wolf: he met her gaze,
looked down to avoid a challenge,
and then looked back to show
that he considered them equals.
"Who the fuck are you?" she said,
suspicious of a stranger watching her.
"I'm Warshirt, a tribal warrior from
the Blackfeet Nation," he said.
"I'm pleased to meet you ...?"
"Kayla Not Afraid, from the Crow,"
she said, and yeah, it really fit her.
"What do you want with me?"
"I heard about you from a friend,"
said Warshirt. "We've been working
with some young folks who escaped
from a terrible place. People are
concerned about you and they
wonder if you might have been
involved or if you need any help."
"I can take care of myself,"
Kayla said. "I don't need help."
"Okay," Warshirt said easily. He
ambled over to the coffee station
and poured a cup for himself.
That was pretty good coffee.
"You look tough enough."
"I've had to be," said Kayla. "I
grew up on the Crow Reservation,
got into and out of trouble, then
I got stuck in a group home."
"You're one of the stolen children,"
Warshirt said, frowning. "You
should have gone to a relative."
Kayla shrugged. "Protection's
for the white kids," she said.
"Protection is for everyone
who needs it," said Warshirt.
"Group homes are wretched."
One of his war buddies had
come out of a group home,
and you couldn't touch Terry
while he was asleep or else
he'd belt you before he woke up
enough to realize who you were.
"Yeah well, I didn't spend a lot of
time there," Kayla said. "As much
as I could, I stayed out or snuck out."
"It's sensible to avoid a bad place,"
Warshirt said. "So good for you."
"For a while," said Kayla. "Then
I got caught by these big guys,
who dumped me at a whorehouse."
"My friend was held in a place
called Merry Acres Ranch,"
said Warshirt. "Since I met her,
we've been finding other girls
from there, all over the state."
Kayla dipped her chin. "Yeah,
that was the place," she said.
"If you know anyone who might
be interested, there are funds
for the survivors," said Warshirt.
"The Blackfeet Nation has offered
to care for those with totem gifts."
"I don't need handouts," Kayla said.
"I can get by with odd jobs and stuff."
"Of course you can," said Warshirt.
"You're very powerful, to show
your totem gifts on your skin."
"After this happened, most
of the fuckers didn't want
me anymore," said Kayla.
"If I had their names, or
even descriptions of them,
then I could make their lives
very difficult," Warshirt offered.
Kayla snarled a grin. "You don't
have to worry about the last one
there," she said. "He tried to screw
my face, and I bit his fuckin' junk off."
"Aho, warrior!" said Warshirt.
"It's a good memory," she said.
"After that, though, I got sold again.
I guess that was the last straw."
"Out of the frying pan, and
into the fire," said Warshirt.
"So what did you do then?"
"What do you do, when you have
had enough of the world around you,
but leaving is well-nigh impossible?"
Kayla said quietly. "You walk. So I did."
"You must have a lot of stamina, to get
this far away," said Warshirt. "That's
a very useful gift to have around."
"Yeah, if a town gets uncomfortable,
then I just walk or hitchhike to another,"
Kayla said, mouthing the rim of her cup.
"Dammit, I've run out of coffee."
Warshirt held out a hand. "May
I refill that for you?" he asked.
"Sure, why not," Kayla said,
and passed him her cup.
Warshirt drained his own
and went to refill both.
"Do you want sugar,
creamer, syrup, or
anything else in this?"
Warshirt asked as he
poured the coffee.
"Ugh, no," she said.
"Leave mine black."
"It's your choice,"
Warshirt said as he
handed her the cup.
"I've been doing fine
here," said Kayla. "I can
find odd jobs, and nobody
tries to fuck me anymore."
"That's good," said Warshirt.
"It's terrible to offend the spirits
by harming their chosen ones.
They might leave us all to starve."
"I don't even know why I'm telling
you all this," Kayla muttered.
"Usually I keep it to myself."
"Some stories need to be
told," Warshirt replied.
"I don't like how people
look at me when they know,"
Kayla said. "I don't need pity."
"Well, maybe I can make you
a better offer," said Warshirt.
"There's a place for you on
the Blackfeet Reservation if
that's something you'd like."
"I've got places to stay here,"
Kayla said. "I'm doing fine."
"Places suitable for winter?"
said Warshirt. "It's getting cold."
"I have fur," Kayla said, and
buried her nose in her coffee.
"Besides, nobody wants a bitch
in the house. I'm better off alone."
That sounded like a direct quote,
and Warshirt would love to punch
whoever had said it to Kayla.
"You are not alone in your pain.
You are not alone in your struggles.
You are not alone in your journey,"
said Warshirt. "You are not alone,
and you will get through this."
"I'm always alone," she insisted.
"All people see when they look
at me is what I've become."
"What happened to you is
horrible but that is all it is --
a thing that happened to you,"
said Warshirt. "You are not alone
in this. You are not defined by it."
"Tell that to the people who see
me as a charity case," Kayla said.
"I'd be happy to," said Warshirt.
"Point me in their direction."
Kayla looked away. "Don't
worry about it," she said.
"If they bug me too much, I
can just go somewhere else."
"Or you could find better people
to be with," Warshirt suggested.
"I could make some introductions."
"I don't need anyone," Kayla insisted.
"I'm stronger on my own. I'm free."
"Never underestimate the power of
community. There is always someone
who cares, who understands, and who
is willing to support you," said Warshirt.
"You are not alone in your fight, and
you are never abandoned."
Kayla snorted. "And what
am I supposed to do with that,
put it on toast and eat it for
breakfast?" she said. "I can't
afford any sign of weakness,
it's an invitation to attack."
Warshirt knew that feeling.
He'd faced it himself.
He also knew that
feelings could lie to you.
"We all have moments of
weakness, but it's important to
remember that you are not alone in
facing such challenges," said Warshirt.
"Others have walked similar paths,
and they are here to support you."
"The hell you know about it?"
Kayla snapped. "You ever
been fucked for a living?"
"No, but I've been to war,
which is a different kind
of hell," said Warshirt.
"Yeah, I've heard about
that from other folks on
the street," said Kayla.
"You don't have to stay
on the street if you don't
want to," said Warshirt. "I
know people who'd be happy
to offer you a place to stay."
"And then they'd want
something for it, or they'd
think they had a right to tell
me what to do," said Kayla.
"I didn't work this hard to get
loose just to piss it away
because it might snow."
"Definitely will snow,"
Warshirt pointed out.
"We are in Montana."
"Screw this, I'm outta here,"
Kayla snarled, glaring at him.
"Don't you come looking for me."
Warshirt spread his hands.
"All right, I won't bother you
for the next moon," he said.
"I'm not comfortable giving you
longer than that. Winter's coming."
Kayla flipped him off as she walked
away with the stiff-legged gait of
a dominant wolf who was entirely
willing to stand up for herself.
Warshirt let her go. He
would keep his word.
It'd give him time to talk
with Matthew Black Wolf
and see what advice he had.
Once Kayla was out of sight,
Warshirt allowed himself to smile.
That had been a great first meeting.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its location and content notes appear separately.