Last Stand

poem about being multi-cultral, about looking white in an Indian community

Last Stand

Fuck them fuck all of them
oh yes we know how Custer did us wrong
does it matter anymore

how long will this knowledge consume us
make us whole or nothing
it is no excuse to hide behind

we’ve grown so tired
our feet, our eyes, our hands
so sick of searching
grasping out to find
nothing there

I am the white girl at the Potlatch
the red head on the reservation
I did not want this to define me

I am my fathers daughter
I am from the high-born eagle clan
but this is never seen
it sounds like a joke to you

you who live in luxury will never see what I have seen
your brown skin
your dark eyes
they tell the world who I am
but you take all the credit
you
who never stepped foot in a smoke house
or on a reservation

you who does not know what it is to be Indian
while I am the one tired of convincing them