Blood Mountain

Its called Blood Mountain
Because a battle took place there,
Long ago,
Before there were white settlers
To send troops into the mountains
And root the natives from their homes.
On to Oklahoma, when it was still
Indian Territory, without irony,
And before the settlers were allowed
To subdivide every available square acre
For summer cabins and mobile home parks
And quaint country stores
And trails planted across the spines
Of hill and vale and mountain.

Two years ago, this past Summer,
This tree-covered mountain
Provided a nice place of recreation
For daughter and father to traverse
On a sunny August morning
Leaving our footprints across the escarpment
Along with the occasional
Discarded mound of dog poop and other trash,
But still leaving us a pleasant walk
And glorious views
And a wonderful memory for father and daughter.

Until some ex-Army Ranger
Without a stable home,
Living in his van,
Without loved one known of
Other than his dog,
Trekked the same trail up Blood Mountain
Took a young women hostage,
Stole her ATM card,
And left her body in the woods
Of Dawson County
And a wrenching in my stomach.

A suitable act to remind one
That any wooded hillside
Or any pleasant forest,
No matter how verdant,
Innocent and pristine,
Might offer a spot for physical exercise,
And spiritual endeavor,

Or the opportunity for
Some senseless act of bloodshed
At a place so aptly named.
A lesson that there is no place
From which we might expect
The guarantee of shelter.