tell me this

how am I to feel 
in my ndn skin
when no one gives a good damn
the very land
america occupies
land my ancestors freely

i see the with anger and rage
each time there is public outcry over 
police murdering unarmed
black men

not because I think they should be shot

but where is the rage
for ndn men & women
who too are shot down like dogs?

just some of the same old garbage
just a new day

these days
my mouth is filled with bitter bile
I am so angry 
I am unable to speak it
let alone write it

today it changes
because the reality of being me, is mine and mine alone

trump, mccain & all the other "wise " colonists /racists
showed us all what dependent sovereignty is


                             ~ Maude Hills

Coyote Smoke
Standing at the edge of the river,
Coyote watched smoke rise up
As the little village awakened,
He tilted his head to listen
To the rustling of stirring life.
Coyote looked across the river,
Again, coyote watched the smoke rise,
But this wasn't smoke,
It had a foul odor and congested the air,
It was a smell coyote associated with humans.
Coyote felt his stomach retch at the stench,
Instead of the rustling of stirring life,
Coyote heard  distractingly loud chaos,
Motors growled an angry, hurried message,
And the air strangled with its toxic fumes.
Coyote turned from the dismal sight,
Humans, it seemed, worked hard at destruction,
The smoke of this side of the river,
Combined with the angry noise and frenzied moves,
Carried to the heavens a message of chaos and greed.
Coyote turned from this vision,
The vision from the other side of the river,
He returned his gaze to the little village,
He knew the time of the village was nearing an end,
And the time of chaos would come to take it's place.
Coyote trotted to the forest edge,
For just a few moments he watched the peaceful village,
He felt the painful memory of his vision,
And feared for the future of the people and his kind,
Coyote began to howl a mournful warning.....
And for just a moment, time stood still.
                                           ~ Debby Ball

Carlisle Creed
This Trail of Tears,
starts in the womb,
A tomb of a few days and full of sorrow,
Work hard and see Eternity.
Ask for days of bread and roses,
Nights of sleep in the arms of ghosts,
Fold your uniform into yesterday's laundry.
Cipher colonial cuneiform,
Sip just twice from the dipper in the barrel,
Never grumble when potatoes make you miss bison,
And your tongue leaves lye where your songs should have been.
                             ~  Dr. Dawn Karima