The Poetry Marathon

MMIW: Sacajwea

Another name that was lost in time.

To be honest,

the only time I’ve heard

of Sacajeewa was in a book

“Streams to the River, Rivers to the Sea”

By Scott O’Dell.

It was in her point of view,

but it was watered down,

because Scott O’Dell

is a children/teens author.

After that,

it was the dollar coin.

A coin dedicated to her,

for her voyage with Lewis and Clark.

But again,

her story wasn’t told.

She was only in her teens,

forced into an abusive marriage.

Having kids during the expedition.

She gave her last child to Lewis,

left to live her last few days alone.

The day I heard about the kids

and where they were buried

was the day my world stood still.

Anger flowed through me

as I wanted to yell out

to the world

“What’s wrong with you!”

Sadness washed out the anger,

as I thought of those innocent faces

wiped away from the world.

No one knows who they are.

I wanted to cry.

To cry for them,

to cry for their parents

who never got to say goodbye.

Pure disappointment then came.

I was in awe

on how fast everyone

got over it.

I vowed to hold them in heart,

because no one else would.

I said to the air around me,

“Let’s not forgot what pains they went through.

those 215 children

who lost their light

at the end of their tunnel.”

M.M.I.W

Murdered, Missing Indigenous Women

(2^nd poem)

Missing sisters, wives and

Mothers are taken and

Injured vicious
While internally screaming in agaony.

Code Talkers II

A part of history that is important

that needs to be shared

numerous times.

Several tribes from the Southwest

joined to form a platoon.

The military’s code

was constantly being broken,

decoded,

Everyone was clueless.

One soldier

from a small platoon

spoke of his language.

Together the tribes

came up with an

unbreakable, Indigenous based code.

The Indigenous language

is phonetic and descriptive,

like a story itself.

Throughout the war,

the code saved lives,

missions and cargo.

The 11^th hour

The 11^th hour is coming near.

Where will you be?

As the Earth begins to crumble

from the mass of unmarked graves.

The children who were once alive

now wander the land

crying for their parents

who are no longer here.

The 11^th hour is stalking

our thoughts,

bringing up past guilty

acts of culture appropriation.

Mimicking the people

who once aided their ancestors

in their time of need.

Only to be downgraded

and have families torn apart

by “Christian acts of love.”

The 11^th hour draws nearer.

Tell me, where will you be

when judgment is upon you?

Beyond Family

Family is now a generic term.

Family is a wide-open umbrella.

Blood or not blood.

This is how most of the world sees family.

The indigenous tribes

see family everywhere.

That is why we call the Earth, Mother.

A mother is supposed to nurture,

support, and empower us.

Mother Nature,

Gaia,

Unci Maka

Ni Mama Akii

Mother Earth.

Her warmth comes from her inner core

and radiated with her trees

that help us breathe easier.

She whispers advice through the wind,

telling us to take it slow.

Father sky,

warms us with his sunbeams,

Sending messages with clouds

by saying to let the inner child

come out and play once in a while,

as the rain comes down

to wash away our negative thoughts.

For us family is just a word.

We have a community of elders

willing to teach by song and dance.

Aunts and Uncles who take stress

away by making us laugh.

Brothers and sisters

to back us up when were cornered by life.

They don’t need to be by blood.

Clans are what tie us together.

As long as you know

your birthplace,

clans

and tribe.

You’ll have family everywhere.

M.M.I.W

(Murdered, missing indigenous women)

Many mothers

Missing the lives of their

Infant children growing up,

Weeping families demanding justice.

Strict Parents

As I reminisce about my childhood.

I can’t help but hear the phrases:

“Don’t do that! That’s not what I taught you.”

“Don’t go to dances.”

One phrase I would hear

when the school dances came and went.

I would feel sad and left out,

when my friends listened to

Whitney Houston

Bonnie Tyler,

“Is that country?”

“We don’t listen to that kind of music here!”

My mom took my cassette player

and gave a lecture on how it’s sinful.

I’d apologize and return the tapes.

A few years later,

my brothers ran outside,

I’d follow them a few steps

only to be yanked back.

“You’re a girl. You don’t do those kinds of things.”

I would watch all my cousins laugh until the sunset,

and come back with wide smiles

and new inside jokes.

Looking back

I remember how I wanted to run wild,

how I wanted to be free.

How I just wanted for once not to wear a dress

and let my clothes get caked with mud.

Just once

I didn’t want to be put in a role.

I wanted to speak freely.

But with strict parents,

that was impossible.

“Shhht”

“Hey! Shhht!”

What’s a way to get your crush’s attention?

Walk up all sly, slip on a smile

then drop a pickup line:

“Am I in heaven?

because I see an angel in front of me?”

Or do you blow a whistle while

jumping up down

calling out their name

to make them turn around

to the tune of “Brown Eyes”?

Are you the kind that

orders a drink and yells,

“‘Mere!”

And try to impress them

with an old joke,

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Nah.

We natives have a way to get your attention.

We call it the “mating call”.

It’s a sound that comes naturally

When we see someone we like,

and warn strangers to be wary of it.

It sounds like a short electric static

with urgency.

It can make you turn around confusion

and face us.

“Shhht!”

“What’s your clans?”

So, as a native telling non-natives.

Beware of noises that come from behind,

it can either be a mating call

or just some noise.

We Dance

We dance for the universe

to hear our prayers

to bring us healing

and self empowerment

to ourselves.

The colors and bells

mingle to create

a cleansing

and energizing aura

as the drums emphasize

the songs story.

it may look like fancy twirls,

fluffy feathers and colorful beads.

In the midst of it all,

the dances we do

have a purpose.

We are retelling

our sacred stories with you.

The screaming you hear

is in a language that is fading.

It is time itself resurfacing

to tell you what history left out