My Trail of Tears

My Story starts not during the days when life was good.
But when freedom was snatched from me
My people and I were once like the fish in the stream.
Allowed to explore this vast sea we call our world.
But today I am forced to walk alone, a road paved with the blood, sweat and tears of my people.

I will myself forward
Not for my own life, but for the hope of once again being reunited with the ones whose blood runs through my veins.
My eyes burn for a chance to glimpse someone familiar in the crowds but I keep my head down in failure.
My one relief is my memories.


Dancing along mamma and sisters, in time with the wind.
Letting the lava sun create sticky puddles on my dark skin.
Lying in the shallow creek with Little Bit, allowing the waters to work their magic.
Hearing mother’s mother, say to me that if I ran my slender fingers through the grass,
that Mother earth would purr back at me.


Standing amongst the tall pines, letting the spicy aroma clear my head.
The voice of father, a growling bear, amongst the hushed elders, discussing the fate of our village.
Chanting and dancing to the rhythm of the flames.
Faces fading in an out as we twist and twirl in our worship.


But my memories cause me trouble today.
I am kicked hard in the back for I have stopped in place.
Causing the never ending line of us”useless savages” to fall out of stride.
My face hits the ground, I search for air and find dust.


I stare at the pale man’s boot.
It is planted to the side of my face.
And like the hungry turtle in my stream, I turn and snap at it, as she would an innocent fish.
But there is no innocence found in this huge, merciless creature.

His evil smile freezes me.
Like when the doe knows there is no escaping my arrow.
His piercing eyes are the color of the sky
On the night Light Foot and I bind our spirits and fasten our bodies.


The pain threatens to wrap her fingers around my life.
Just as White man strangled my lover.
I am allowed to touch the cold blue lips to mine before I am shoved into the line of strangers,
a line of my people.
Light Foot’s sacred body is burned along with the others and the village…before I look away.


A kick… A flash of white.
And I remember,
The kind white woman who used to tell us children stories of a loving spirit called Jesus.
But if this White man follows this God then how can the stories be true.


My body goes numb.
And I stare into a thousand empty eyes.
Is there any hope?
The rocks that are shredding my back and the pulling on my hair, no longer bring me pain.

My anger is gone.
Instead it is replaced with an irrepresible anguish
How does one become so evil, and take what does not belong to him and then live with himself?
I will not hate the White man and I will not fear him, because that is what he wants, and I will not
give in!


O’ Great Spirit

Whatever your name may be
Receive me now.
As I leave my Trail of Tears.


My story is now in your hands.
I know you will not let me down.
I know you will not use it against your White man, as I would wish you not to.
But please, you must tell everyone because they need to hear it,
this story of me… me and my people.

Hannah Marie



10 thoughts on “My Trail of Tears

    • Thank you very much! I wrote this when I was a teenager and it meant a lot to me! My great, great, grandmother was found in a burning down village, she was abandoned and was taken in my a Hispanic family and cared for!

      • Wow, that was an incredibly fortunate turn of events for her. It would surprise many people how many amazing stories their are in their own families, should they find a way to unearth them =)

      • Yes I know! I was always interested in finding out about my family like on my other side my thrice great grandmother came over from Ireland on a ship to America, there are so many interesting things we could learn!

  1. Very descriptive, emotionally captivating.

    History is filled with evidence of the same thing happening in, to and by all cultures. In 750 AD, the “Moors” enslaved Caucasians. Further in history, the Egyptians enslaved the Jews. The indigenous people of North America and South America owned slaves and some killed off others not of their tribes. 250 million Russians were killed during WWII and 6 million Jews. My children’s paternal grandmother was 1 of the 3 family members remaining from an extended family of hundreds after WWII. It doesn’t make it right, nor does it make a family’s loss less tragic. But it is enlightening to know that humans have struggled with the same problem since before there was a written word to preserve the knowledge.

    No matter what race, color or belief, the human species is filled with examples of greed and slavery, altruism and freedom. In my mind, this is a truly schizophrenic species and I’m convinced that anyone on Earth still alive and over the age of 5 is mentally ill. “-)

    • I agree with you on this. We are probably all mentally ill, but I remain hopeful that there are people in this world that make me believe we are capable of good! Thanks for this comment it is filled with great amount of history. I took care of an Arminian woman and her people were enslaved as well, it is just sad what people in this world do to one another!

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