Indian Reservation

Of late he likes the whole bed
and moves me over so I'm on the edge.
I go next door for peace, for quiet.

I sleep on the floor, on two mattresses,
I don't mind, except for the mornings
when my bones ache.

There are pictures on these walls
of Red Indians with menacing faces
and totem poles.

The big chief watches over me
in his fine feathered head dress.
as though I'm his squaw. He protects me.

My lover's doing war dances beneath the duvet.
"Come back to me" he cries
"I need you close to me"

He won't come in; the pictures spook him.
Now, this room is my domain, my Indian reservation.
Some day - I'll reclaim my land.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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