Everybody has to die
We consider ourselves lucky
Believe us
We were there & yet we intended staying,
Home a whole string of things we can’t begin to name
Oh!
The first that died sure unnerved us
Sunrise is such a horrible thing
& yet

Every day
We are called & waiting
If fortune favors us, we may find ourselves.
Squeeze the life out of our hand
There is so much to be said
We don’t believe we should
Ever get through
One year normal
Maybe we remember now.
All the schools, churches, theaters, dancing halls, etc.
Are closed here also.
There is a bill in the Senate.
We can’t help but hope.
Ha! Ha!
If we are not dead
Write
Write
To be 
To do
To-*

*Erasure poem of a letter from a nurse to her friend at the Haskell Indian Nations
University, Kansas, October 17, 1918. Bureau of Indian Affairs.