| Dear Sir, |
| The shots that killed you upset your horse. It seemed to Ghost Dance. A lot of your people joined in, hoping the earth would finally swallow up the whites forever. |
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| I think there’s an inevitable chasm in translation — a humorless impasse. |
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| Do you remember cursing Wild Bill’s applauding audience under your breath? |
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| I imagine General Custer trying to utter your name through the blood in his mouth, your existence as incomprehensible to him as his own defeat: “Sitting Bull….” |
| This strange tongue from across the ocean will never get it right. It never wanted to. |
| jeremy |
