Clear Cut

There is only one thing in the whole world that is really mine

Every now and then
   I catch myself in the mirror
   and I see the face
   of someone displaced

I see the indigenous blood
   that runs in my veins
   which I grew up too white
   to claim

Her eyes molded by sorrow
   the ache of always having to borrow
   from fragmented identities 

She has a house
   and a bed
   and all things we call
   a homestead

But this is not
   where she really belongs

No walls for the wolves
   no rent for the lions

She was raised
   by parents
   who did their best
   with the weight of their own broken past
   carried heavy on their backs

Orphan, still

Never claimed by the land
   on which her great-great grandmother
   learned to dance

Yet the wings on her back
   became ghosts on mine

Memories of eagle feathers
   and fire smoke 
   reading the language of stars
   while the drums pound
   and the coyotes howl

Cast away
   cut off
      clear cut

A lineage like fallen trees
   stripped of life
   sold for profit
   forgotten in the scam of 
   "civilized"

White washed
   well spring of
      written lies

Everything meant to hide
   the demons lurking inside
   "progress"

Instead of elders
   I was given abusers

Instead of grandmother willow
   I was given a tear stained pillow

For as long as I can recall
   I knew this was all wrong

But I was told
   to be quiet
   to be thankful
   to accept things as they are

And I tried
   until the voice inside me
   started to die

Smothered by the cover
   of comfort and privilege 
   choking on the dust
   of the rivers all dried up

Somewhere 
   in the history of my blood
   there lives an Apache woman
   riding a stallion into battle

I love her
   and I will never know her
   other than the whisper
   her lips carry to my moon drenched dreams

They say we all benefit
   from the courage of the colonizers
   to form something new
   on land where the bison once grew

What benefit
   is fast food 
   and the machine of school?

The truth is
   none of us know who we are
   outside the roles they sold us
   and we are all sick 
      separated 
         searching

Meaning can't be found
   in the screen
   or the pew
   or the arena of distraction
      the simple minded flood into

The only difference is
   I have the courage to admit it

Listening 
   to the song of the flute
   through a digital tool
   the wind blows in the pines
   older than any man
   who comes to mind (mine)

Excavate
   extract
      exploit

Until there's nothing left
   while we all hold our breath
   waiting for change
   and we forget our own names

Havasupai

Yavapai

Hualapai

People of the water
   of the sun
   of the pines
   of the land

For try as we might
   sheltered and soft
   lost backbones
   in the chicken coops 
   of city housing

Not a single one of us
   can live without the water
   or the sun
   or the pine
   or the sacred land
   
A red-naped woodpecker
   sings in the oak grove
   where I hung
   a wind chime  
   decorated with the evil eye

Would that it were so easy
   to keep the demons at bay

Such a small bird
   so free
   chirping in the unforgiving air
   of July

From her I learn
   there is no such thing
   as too small
   too loud
   or too alive

We may be here
   for only a short time
  
I may not have a tribe
   or a name given by 
   those who would welcome me
   into the circle of belonging

But I still have my voice
   I didn't let it die
   chewed up and spit out
   by civilized avarice

Here I am
   claiming it as mine
   so if it's the only real thing
   I know how to carry

This shall suffice
  

Painting from artist Gull G

If poems like this are your vibe, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. I write from a place of feeling lost and found at the same time, with a reverence for nature, and a hope for the future. Never AI, always real. I also donate to various organizations that work to protect indigenous land, fresh water, and wildlife.

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.