I feel somewhat guilty to have to tell you that the phrase ‘blue corn moon’ has no actual meaning in Indian lore.

—Pocahontas lyricist Stephen Schwartz

she’s at one with nature & the wind has colours. we can see them swirling as we try to get our bearings. we stare at her. we’ve come for entertainment. little white girls with beads & feathers in our hair, dressing in her clothes & howling till our lungs are raw. our mothers told us we were one-sixteenth native american once. the beads are plastic, the feathers crooked. the real princess may have died of smallpox, but we want our endings shiny, our moccasins in patent leather, our moons packaged like tortilla chips, the dreamcatchers we’ve stolen filtering out all nightmares.