This is a found poem I created using two paragraphs from page 102 of N. Scott Momaday’s House Made of Dawn.
Disposed of him in Words
He sat like a rock in his chair.
Word by word by word (they were)
disposing of him in language,
full of hesitation, and reluctance.
He wanted to help them.
He could understand,
but could not understand,
what they were doing to him,
to each other.
Such pain in the priest’s eyes;
He hated the priest for suffering so.
Murder is a moral term.
Death is a universal human term.
He had killed the white man;
It was very simple,
surely they could see that.
A man kills such an enemy, if he can,
these men who meant to dispose of him