I am nDn

I am what I am. I am Indian.

I am Chickasaw, Muskogee Creek, Pawnee, Blackfoot, Seminole, and African Mexican

I am Southern

Corn and fish are my favorites. Love and family are my cloak

I Am an Indian

I am called Native

But you call me Black

Loksi is my Friend,

Turtle is good; turtle helps Creator

I am cloistered like turtle,

I HIDE within myself.

I am what I am!

July sixth my heart sings, my spirit has wings.

Today Lord was AWESOME! All smiles and nothing awful

Permeating the day.

Sandy, Norma, Andrea, Adriana and Melinda too, gave my heart a Serendipitous sway.

I love you Lord!

Sharing, reading, assisting, validating, was a joy de vivre-WOW! Language seeping in

Finding its home when we’re made to feel special in all your ways. My heart sings, my

Spirit has wings, even for one who does not write.

I feel like Loksi; slower, but writing. I am what I am!

I learn by doing-I gave my all today, July ten.

I thank Harold, Melinda and Sandy,

They are helping me peep out of my den.

I thank you also Tom Romano for helping me develop my voice

I was choosing to bail, but now with a choice, I’m finding

I do have a voice. I am who I AM!

I am what I am. A person, a child of GOD, living, breathing, reacting-SOMEBODY!

I have feelings, disappointments, set backs, good days and bad days-I am what I am.

I am guilt laden-a house full of diabetic children and asthmas too-alcoholic husband-

Passive and now dead, Children blind, children in prison. And “I told you so!”-Mother

3 jobs, little sleep, victim of nightmares, sleepless nights-how do I feed them, how will

The bills be paid-I WILL NOT BORROW, nor will I ask.

Roller coaster, WORK! I need to breathe-take a deep breath-I need to sit-What’s

Relaxing-I’m tired, but I’m Indian, I am who I am-we don’t get tired because we’ve been

Told we aren’t good for anything-but I can read, I can hunt, I can use a slingshot and kill

Two not one bird, skin a rabbit and belly fish my dinner and I can hide in my shell in my Spirit. So who can’t do anything?

OK, so I’m Black. I couldn’t buy my genetic DNA, like you thought you bought Louisiana, but stole it because Injuns can’t read. You tried to steal my identity because I

Colored Black, well so what! You are too. Ever hear of Africa and the Middle Ease? Do

You know where the Tigris and the Euphrates Rivers are? They are in black Man, God

Loving, God-fearing countries. I am what I am. I am Chickasaw, Muskogee Cree, Pawnee, Black foot, Seminole and African Mexican. I love chiliquilles, corn mush, Tortillas cilantro and frijoles. I like Indian tacos but not our National Pashofa-UGH!!!!!- Pass the salt. Plum dumplings are great-but way toooooo sweet. Small wonder I carry The genetic coding for diabetes and high blood pressure.

The removal from Indian Territory to Oklahoma IT shook up the blood; destroyed who We were. I am what I am. Dawes you crucified us and made us ashamed of who we are, Or were?

In fighting, color-coding, look white, act white, tribe wannabe, who are you? Why’re

You here? I’ll ignore you! You saw Chickasaw? Never heard of you-displaced Indians

In California wearing fake feathers-ok some are real-passing judgment-I am who I am.

No wonder Haholo laughs at us. His principle of divide and conquer has seeped into our

Spirits, our blood, and rides our spirits till we are no better than useless lifeless entities

Searching for a way that’s just beyond our grasp. POWWOW! I am what I am. Color is Invitational abuse-right of passage-look around, what do you see. I challenge all of you.

Mom’s a raven-a shaped-changer-Bird clan. Dad killed his first bear-an eagle feather, Bear Clan. I’m hummingbird-lhikommak, sounds better in Cherokee-Wallela and Hawaiian, Wallelia. I can fly backwards; drink nectar-ooh so good. I have brilliant Rainbow colors. I can beat my wings 100 beats per minute-I am unique-I am what I am. The Mississippi, the Tennessee and the Wolf rivers were my playgrounds. Ice skates, Cattfish, the biggest river I’d ever seen-death trap, graveyard. The old ones are mute! SPEAK! Your voice must be heard so I can grow. I want to KNOW! Your SILENCE is deafiening! Death has robbed me of that voice-my ancestors have “walked”. My history, Unspoken. No Written language-culture hidden in the South, in the mountains, in the forests, in the Rivers-the South! Dawesd genocide, Oklahoma “trail”, in the woods, hidden, knowest Not it’s roots-SHAMEFUL! Unmarked graves at Fort Washita, on the “Trail, in the Woods on the earth, the blood seeped. Ghost stories-nightmares. Do not tell you’re Indian, you will die.

But I have voice now! Stories I’ll tell to grandchildren. HEAR! LISTEN to the WIND; Dance your dance around the circle of LOWAK-fire! HONORO MOTHER NATURE! RESPECT CREATOR-CHIHOOWAA! Receive-Give-near harm. Shake loksi-Shells, STOMP DANCE-the beat of the heart! You sa oshetik (daughter), un chepota nukni (sons) sa inpok (grandchild) are alive, you are alive; Death has no hold on you.

You are what I AM. You are nDn.

Yakoke! Cho pisa la cho!

Thank-you Mr. Romano, I’m penning my voice finally.

            p.s. I like macaroni and cheese too!

Linker: 7/21/06