Green of the Grass

Weeks before your death,
you witnessed
hands meant to protect
pummel my body.
But their fists didn’t hurt
as much as later knowing
though you were older
I was the brother and I wasn’t
there when you disappeared.

They
wouldn’t file your name
as a missing person
as someone who deserved to be
found, as if even your name meant nothing.
Kaysera, Kaysera, Kaysera.
Woman, daughter, sister.
Gone, gone, gone.

For five days
your body was lost.
For us
it was 
nineteen days of not knowing.
White society shows
when an Indigenous woman
ceases to exist
she never existed in the first place.

Green
was the color of the grass
beneath your body.
Science says that
when you
restrict air flow,
trap moisture,
block sunlight,
the grass will surely die.

They want me to believe even nature was indifferent to your death.