My sister and I wonder about our native ancestors

One percent carried in our DNA on our father’s side

tells of our connection, now lost in the distance of time

Were they warriors who battled the incoming tide of settlers?

Did they follow the buffalo herds grazing across the Plains,

embracing the animals who were part of their way of life?

Did they mark the movements of the sun, moon and stars

in sacred spots, leaving traces upon the earth that they

celebrated with stories told in dances and songs?

We do not know the name of our Indian ancestor, only

that our seventh great grandmother was enslaved by a French

official in the Illinois territory; her half-Indian daughter

purchased by her French father is found in the annals

of Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, a relationship so faint that

only our blood carries the certainty of our kinship bond.