Remember the Indian’s place and reach,
but show displeasure. Make him see
the Indians driven from homes, branded
lowly dogs and pigs.
Flatter him, write about decisiveness.

Remind the king how he would eat
his tormenters. Then ask him,
What would a Spaniard do in the Indian’s place?

Rouse him with flags. Stir memories
of Spanish warriors uprooting Moors:
mowing them down, watching their ships
retreat, discarding scores of wounded men,

fading. Talk about the colony’s ownership gradually,
using the laws of God and man to declare
Indians Peru’s true masters.

The letter may crumble in a fist of flames,
or the ink may eventually vanish
mixed in stacks of browning pages, but not before
he feels the same anger
pang his heart like our descendants’ voices
folding back the loam. Avoid thinking

of your people’s past—Atahualpa butchered
and Manco splayed by swords—
or your words will be dismissed as savage thought.
Do not wonder about the messenger,
who will stand before you
months later clutching knife and empty envelope,
with the royal seal dried in place.