Red Willow

27. Hit and Run

2018-11-25T16:25:00.000-08:00

Mama I hit that man
Stepping out of his truck
I hit that man

Down where the road curves west
And the trees shine gold
His legs smashed
Against my hard bumper
Windshield shattered
His body clamoured

Mama I hit that man
The trees bleed rust now
And my mind will never be the same

Mama, I hit that man
Laying in my bed
I hit that man

Laughing at my anger
Knowing I’m a fool
I grabbed the pillow
Forced it down upon him
Arms flailed
And I jerked myself away

Mama I hit that man
The blankets bleed rust now
And my mind will never be the same

(10/2017)

Shunkaha Napin

2018-11-22T16:55:00.000-08:00

“I never want to leave this country; all my relatives are lying in the ground.” - Shunkaha Napin

26. I, Rebel / I Rebel

2018-11-18T16:53:00.000-08:00

Stop messing with my future
I rebel
Stop telling me what to do
I rebel
Stop tampering with my paperwork
I rebel
Stop.

Stop calling me a cunt, a prostitute
I rebel
Stop forcing me into your box
I rebel
Stop talking to me condescendingly
I rebel
Stop.

Stop bugging me
Stop asking me to do shit for free
Stop asking me to pay to be your token Indian
Stop.

Leave me alone
You’re a woman in my grad school cohort, why are you trying to drag me down?
Leave me alone
You’re a man I briefly met at a bar, why are you talking to me this way?
Leave me alone
You’re a non-profit getting bank, why do you think you can capitalize off of my story, my identity, my intellectual content?
Leave me alone

I, rebel
Will hold steadfast and rise up
I, rebel
Will resist the established patriarchy
I, rebel
Will subvert and uphold the laws of rebellion

The more you force
The more I rebel
The more I become a rebel
You’d be better off
If you’d just leave me alone

Plenty Coups

2018-11-15T16:33:00.000-08:00

“The ground on which we stand is sacred, it is the blood of our ancestors.” - Plenty Coups

25. Mishigamaa

2018-11-11T16:23:00.000-08:00

I’ve seen him before
He wears green
Rich green
He is my gate keeper
Allowing me close enough to touch
the Wealth
Of lands. Of waters
But never allowing me to linger long.

He checks on me
Polite smiles exchanged
I’ve seen him before
His cane, a status symbol
He always wears green
Emblazoned with the name of some
Indigenous place
Indigenous words
Indie genius Ivy League schools.

How beautiful
How mysterious
How powerful
The wind whirls
The water creeps up
Swallowing the beaches
And threatening their white glass cabins.

Prayers to the water beings
Prayers to the water beings
Heal my mom
Protect my sister
Comfort my aunt
Birth my daughter.

My education got me here
My culture got me here
My family got me here
My connection to my lands got me here.

There’s something dangerous about me
I can see it in his stance
I can feel it when we pass
I’m just discovering my power.

(10/2017)

Red Cloud

2018-11-06T16:25:00.000-08:00

“We do not want riches. We want peace and love.” - Red Cloud

March

2018-11-05T16:51:00.000-08:00

March, 2017, photo collage

24. That First Tuesday in November

2018-11-04T16:40:00.000-08:00

We all have a place in this society.

And by “this society”
I mean

This community
Multiple communities
This nation
Multiple nations

We occupy many spaces
And transcend time
People don’t understand
And that is ok

Our beautiful great grandparents
Fought for our right to vote
In both Tribal and US elections
And for that we are blessed!

They fought for us, without even
meeting us or knowing us
They just knew
And their hearts grew
And their minds blew
Open the ideas
That
Women should vote
Indians should vote

Say what!?
Yes, Indians should vote
And women should vote

It’s been
Less than 100 years
Since this gift, reserved for white male “citizens” - whatever that means to the all white male majority - was gifted to us
And yes I say gifted
Because a gift can be taken away
By an asshole
Threatened

So, use it
This gift
Abuse it

Vote like it’s your last chance!
Your last chance at pleasing your kookum
Your last chance at eating the best fry bread ever
Your last chance at snagging your lifelong crush
Your last chance at taking down that fucking bully.

It was
Our NDN grandpas during World War I
Our white grammas during women’s suffrage
Our Tribal Nations and our White House nation
That made that first Tuesday in November “a thing”

And let’s make it a thing!

We fought for the right to vote
In 1920
We fought for the right to vote
In 1924
We continue to fight for the right to vote
In 2018.

Miigwetch to our warriors.
Miigwetch to our fire keepers.
Miigwetch to our teachers.
Miigwetch to our medicine People.
Miigwetch to our voters.

You keep us in line.
So do your duty, and keep our multiple Nations in line.

Chief Seattle

2018-11-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

“All things are bound together. All things connect.” - Chief Seattle

Sunset Dance

2018-11-02T16:47:00.000-07:00

Sunset Dance, 2017, photo collage

About "This Crow"

2018-11-01T16:31:00.002-07:00

Recently, for awhile there, I kept seeing This Crow - huge, formidable, definitely making his/her presence known. It was almost like the spirit world was yelling at me - trying to tell me something. But it's just.. in another language. A language I was never taught, or a language I forgot, or a language that I only know a few words - you know? What was This Crow telling me? I hope to one day be fluent in his language.

23. This Crow

2018-11-01T16:19:00.001-07:00

This crow, this crow is preying on me.
Face to face,
his wings slowing spread wide,
consuming my line of vision
with black.

(2018)

Black Elk

2018-11-01T16:12:00.002-07:00

“Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking.” - Black Elk

Gashkadino

2018-11-01T16:09:00.000-07:00

Gashkadino, 2014, collage photograph

22. The Heist

2014-05-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

Parking lot window
It's time for the heist
Your hat
It's on
Woven ultra tight.

Dark pavement roads
I see the lightening coming in
Meteor showers
We will miss
During my night of heist.

Raucous Bon fire
Distance calls
I will miss you
Dear fire
On this night I heist.

21. Lent

2014-03-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

Flakes of pink leathery birch
twirl in soft gusts. Warm wind
over melting snow polishes icy
water to a glaring tint.

At dusk Rugaroo walks the length of the roof,
leaps down, runs through thick brush.
Past the lake, still glass reflecting
spring’s purple nightfall.

Trees scratch the pregnant moon
hanging low,
illuminating just enough
to entice everyone -
come out.

A crossroads bartender
opens the liquor-splattered door.
Rank souls and foul spirits spill out,
roll across the field,
and rush raw into Rugaroo’s nostrils.
His eyes shine in the moonlight.

Quick steps leave soft prints
as his hooves tap the crisp top layer
of the refreezing snow.
Drunken blither gargles
jukebox Hank and Waylon.
Played-out, routine, it masks
the hoof steps approaching.

Worn linoleum floors can’t warn,
but a small stash of sweetgrass
deters vicious essence tendencies.

20. Boy What Have You Done

2014-03-02T21:14:00.000-08:00

How can I relay this feeling to you?
How can I share this important moment with you?
I want to
I need to
So I don’t feel alone

See, I was alone
In California
In the mountains
In a tiny town called Idyllwild
It was hot – a heat wave
Firefighters on alert
But I was there for a fashion show
For what I do
A person, an institution
Investing in me
Believing in me
And my ability to put together a half-ass
Nice ass event

I could do it.

I did it.

But not without hard work

I sat
In my huge California mountain cabin
Deluxe
Beds all over the place
But just me
And the insects that fly
Around the lights
Outside
Inside
Against the screens
Trying to get inside
And I sat
At the kitchen table
Obsessing over
The sound
The images
The designers
The time
The looks
The sound

The sounds
I became obsessed with the sounds
Of Cris Derksen
That cello

Another glass of wine
The rhythm is hypnotic
And I sit

Thinking of you and wishing you were here.
One call
Two calls
No answer
You’re away.

Away, away, you were always away.
Away, away, I didn’t know you were away
With other girls
Loving other girls.

Spending holidays with things on the side.
‘things’ – these ‘things,’ I hate these ‘things’
Why did you drag these ‘things’ into my life?

That cello, that cello, that beautiful cello
It continues to play
To remind me of my accomplishments
To remind me of my shortcomings
To remind me of being in California while you were fucking someone in Sitka
To remind me to hate women who dress as Superwoman for Halloween
To remind me of all the ones you chose over me
To remind me of falling apart

To remind me of the beauty in insanity
In harsh places
Like the Dakotas
The Turtle Mountains
Where I find my healing
Lose my medicine
Alone, alone
I’m always alone.

19. Fuse

2014-02-23T22:57:00.000-08:00

I blew the fuse again last night.
The one that makes the washer spin,
the fridge cool,
the space heater heat.

In the dead of winter
the plastic on the windows shiver,
the walls grow frost,
and the propane burns quicker.

Blown fuses, dead coffee makers, worn out shoes
threaten to take over my basement.
I hate it down there like I hate my bedroom,
my laundry room.

These cold dark spaces need cleaning.
I’m tired of cleaning.

When the washer spun, the fridge hummed,
and the sound of electricity droned,
the microwave made its final claim
and popped.

And then there was only silence
darkness
and filth.

18. Stealing Health

2014-02-16T16:37:00.000-08:00

Her radiation drains me,
stealing my health.
On Fridays, I can feel
her bad glow
penetrating
my stale blue office walls.

Sage explodes in this room.

She wrote about Navajo witchcraft -
the only researcher to do so.
She was warned about Indian power.

Her research lab of sand and color
swirl out of control,
as organs fail and limbs shatter.

Large white pills
mixed with foolish attempts
of misused power
break down in her bowel.

I spend fewer hours in her office,
protecting my own health
from her desperate grasp.

17. Tucson Murder

2014-02-09T12:52:00.000-08:00

This neighborhood is infested
with barking dogs and police
sirens. I want to murder
the repetitious noise reverberating
down these streets and singing
my neighbors to sleep.

And chemicals seep
from the pores of the nightwalker
slinking past my bedroom window
at 2 am. I don’t need a barking dog
or helicopter hum to know
he’s there. I hear his shoes
crunching on the gravel.

A ribbon of sage smoke twirls
around my room, and I am protected.

But that dog grew three decibels
lower in tone since June and I hope
this new owner isn’t as deaf as -

Her dog barks incessantly
because her husband is in rehab;
their grandson creeps between
the fence and shed, tinkers
with the fuse box, hides
under a ratted tarp. His mother
threw him across a room
when he was an infant, and his father
doesn’t hear him say
“dad, dad, dad” repeatedly

like the car alarm no one hears,
like the barking dogs that no one
hears, like the crunching on the gravel
that only I can hear
this town is full of murder.

(7/12/08)

16. Cardinal

2014-02-02T12:45:00.000-08:00

Mother, her mother
killed her daughter’s
baby.
Indian killer, Indian killer
she slayed that poor baby.

(12/6/09)

15. City Limits

2014-01-26T09:00:00.000-08:00

That Navajo horse of a woman
lassoed you in
wrapping her long brown silky legs
round your waist
and neck.

Your bayou-bred arms
accustomed to fishing
couldn’t handle
that Navajo horse of a woman.

14. Dartmouth

2014-01-19T12:44:00.000-08:00

The gray misted air eroded my layers:
absorbed by my skin, and mixed
with their icy cold questions,
my breath became sick with absence.

Wrapped in blankets, I could see
the dismal light penetrating
the particles of mist
seeping in.

Seeping in
through the cracks
of my bedroom walls,
crawling across my floor,
pulling themselves up
and onto my bed.

Cold heavy bones like metal
cut through drenched skin.
Blood soaked in, saturated
sheets,
and stained my memories
and my blankets.

13. Ashes

2014-01-12T12:43:00.000-08:00

Another cigarette butt
flies from his fingertips,
he inhales the smoke
as if it would give him wisdom.

Standing outside, looking in,
he recites to himself:
Ashes, ashes,
everyone’s dying to meet her.

Inside, inside, he obsesses over how
he’s going to get inside, inside.
With his scrawny legs he paces
in the back, craving another cigarette.

His belly, that empty belly,
led him across borders, past mile markers
and into this small Indian town.

Of wheat and ocean,
or quill and lake,
eyes survey the same landscape.
To rape and own,
or use and return,
men find ways to fill
those aching bellies.

(7/9/08)

12. They Come From the Waters

2014-01-05T12:41:00.000-08:00

They come from the waters:
lake, ocean, river.
I’ve seen them
emerging slowly, deliberately,
stepping from deep spaces onto shore.

By only moonlight, they begin.
Sometimes they sing you to them,
unintelligible words wrap around and
draw you near.
Other times they fake a human plea,
too pitiful to abandon.
They can make the still waters dance
white shimmering reflection.

With a power so strong, particles
of copper shed from their bodies.
Tokens of good to balance the actions
of theft, death and lying.

I watched them
drown you
then release you.
Then sink back into the waters.

Tobacco, prayers, a thick sweat,
a journey.
Sweat, smudge, cleanse
Medicine for the body
Medicine for the body
Medicine for the body

(9/27/13)