Red dust rising on a gravel track
The shadow of a pack of stray dogs follows
Tall rocks of blue and grey, a constant watchful eye
Though bound, the current land in these current times
Allows the spirit to speak
English will always be the second language
As long as we hold the land
Where our drumbeats and songs always begin
Ancestors find ease in the rows of stone
They continue to whisper their names
Our stories echo their resilient yells
Though I don’t drum and there is no dance in my feet
I hold the echoes of the Eastern Shoshone in my soul
My heritage will return to be rooted deep in the ground
And like the prairie rose, it will continue
To push through the red dirt
For in rivers, the kwitsunaippeh
The essence of life continues to flow.
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Author:
Z (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2025 16:27
- Comment from author about the poem: I am a proud member of my tribe but sometimes feel as if I'm not "native" enough, as in I'm not "traditional" enough to be taken seriously as a Native. I grew up on the rez and I think living there and the sense of community I grew up with is enough. Often times a regular Native can get overshadowed by those who are considered to be more "tradish" or "sacred." This poem is the beginning of my exploration into those feelings. Will def be working on this one throughout the years. AKA, not done yet.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
A beautiful poem with respect for nature and one's heritage. Lovely choice of words and images painted and an almost drum beat rhythm to the meter. A fave
Very sweet comment, thank you for your words. I didn't even realize the cadence!
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