The Portrait and the Artist

My father painted Satank, Kiowa chief with the piercing
eyes.  I have seen him in my dreams
under the moon over Medicine Bluff
   riding the silver horse
stealing mules  signing treaties
resuming the fight (he lost his son in a Texas raid)
   Arrested,
dragged in chains,
Satank breaks free,
one last wild gesture before defeat.

In his air-conditioned studio sweat
pouring from his forehead my father
clutched his painter's brush and held
the arrow to the canvas.  He struck the face
of the aged warrior, bull's eye, to keep the memory 
of Satank, Set-angya, Sitting Bear alive.

I see the staring eyes of the portrait and the artist,
I hear their incantations,
spirit songs of the freedom seekers.