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Rhythm and Hues
by Judith K. Witherow

Where have all the
sun-brushed women gone?
In search of partners who
know the steps.
Won't shield their faces,
nor lighten sleek hair.
Drums command each foot
to tap and stamp.
Bodies sway and heads nod
with the heartbeat of
Stretched hides erase
the old name.
"Indian Chicken Scratch"
Music is life's sweet caress
and often its carrion.
She who dances traditionally
is always chosen by
the Spirits.

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