This is war,
Without the name
It’s always been,
The slow erosion of their land,
Of their ways,
Their rituals,
Their families,
Their communities
Their lives
This is war,
Without the name,
Declared through false handshakes,
And broken treaties,
Declared through smallpox blankets,
And stolen children,
This is, was always war
Without the name.
She of Letters 