home - lakota woman

Home


Where I come from –
not exactly sure.
Its presence seems to dwindle
without some hearty evidence –
a ship,
a plane,
anything…
just get me there.
Else, I rely
solely on the faith of
a couple hundred mouths
or that dot on the map
with a different name.

Where you come from –
can it be any clearer?
I know; you feared your extinction
by the muzzles of this country –
a feather,
a turtle,
anything…
just give you a sign.
Else, you rely
solely on the booze
that rocks your reserved nation(s).

I know we were killed,
beaten –
convert or die –
dissipated to (foreign) lands
where the language is rough
and the racism mandatory.
Somehow, they remember –
the parents,
grandparents,
anyone but me.
For the strangely light-skinned,
American birth certificates
do wonders with wiping
the mind clean of specified
heartache.

I, you know you were killed,
beaten –
convert or die –
had the person-soul wrenched
from your minds, wombs.
The new language was old –
the old language was exciting –
somehow, you AIM for the same
and rekindle the fires without;
do you remember having them?
You do,
and you fight,
and you pierce your heartaches
into a Sun Dance
that you may at last partake in,
like our freedom to borrow
a church for a day,
only you had to pluck eyes,
scar faces,
scar chests,
to earn any right
to live as you once did
on your own soil.

You see, the only difference,
really,
between you and me
is your willingness to stay aflame
and my willingness to assimilate.

But that is enough difference.
I pray you let me weep-sing with you,
sister,
Lakota Woman.