Gathered in voice we emerged from this river
scuffling calls like water on banks till new
mewing cries bent bodies of bare breasted
women roped, netted like baskets of crayfish.
Red clay like me, our own men come to trade
at this Fort St. Jean Baptiste aux Natchitoches.
Is that sunshine his pathway may cover
And the grief of the Red River Girl.[1]
Red skin, red blood, bodies break, bodies take, mewl cauls
Chitimacha, Natchez to slave, us Cadeaux, Lipan sex make
Just shy ninety years click by and these planters of cotton
and cane, slaves, and those known as gens de couleur libres a
quarter count us in their blood, over half that number runs Indian
slave, blue bodies cost, but Lipan woman for only 50 dollars.[2]
Red skin, red blood, bodies break, bodies take, sex breaks.
Chitimacha, Natchez to slave, us Cadeaux, Lipan mewl calls.
Is that sunshine his pathway may cover
And the grief of the Red River Girl.
We emerged from this river, made of red
clay, broke from earth and water struggled to
breath, and yet our wrists still harbor rope burn.
Our cries trembling blue notes like muscadine
skin. While you have wandered into the sun, the
blood in our women warbles a red river moan.
Is that sunshine his pathway may cover
And the grief of the Red River Girl.