Angela Alice Richards: Poems

Artist?

Angela Alice Richards Jul 2020

Artist?

Artist?
I do consider myself an activist.
Artist?
I am aware of my warrior mentality.
My words, my sharpened blades that cut into your consciousness, my blunt weapon of choice obliterates and dismantles oppressive systems. I am worthy of honor, the truth will always prevail no matter how much history tries to lie to us, brainwash us, I will remain red.
Artist?...

Lakota Sacreligion

Angela Alice Richards Feb 2020

Lakota Sacreligion

Superficial ceremony, sacrificial ceremony. Lest the medicines never condone your offerings — forked tongue. I was told many women came before me, like lambs, the chosen ones, or the selected few based upon your windigo taste. I stood before you in a slaughter room full of people who adore you, but I don’t. Heyoka hechya sni, siceya ephe, little do they know you are the backwards one. The man who turns into ashes, The White Buffalo Calf Pipe story, you’re the one. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, who in my own community can I trust?

No one.

Come Lakota princess and place your bet. Little did I know I was a pawn, “play the game” often said. Young and naive. Eager to please, eager to believe. Eager to achieve. Eager to succeed. Futures can be bought but can’t be sought, really it wasn’t foreseen by me. Cashing paychecks and ruining lives. Profiting from false promises and school integrity built on lies.

I prayed you went back from whence you came... my prayers had to be powerful against the powers of your manipulation, expert and masterful.

I offer tobacco and know that this world is better off without you. Lest unci maka forever reject you from her womb. So you will always remain in ceremony. To drag buffalo skulls hooked onto your back for all of eternity, in perfect circles around what you’ve done to me. Lest your flesh never break free from the bending of my cottonwood tree. Your back and chest riddled with scars by the relatives you hurt in this life. Your spirit never to return back to the stars because you are not ready to be honest with the community with what you really are.

A monster that wears two silver braids with long arms and long legs.

You may always fool others with your smile but you will never fool me again.

I’ve decided not to continue the sacrificing of my own spirit but to endure the burden of truth-telling. Now, the community calls me “that girl”. Stained by you and your wrong doings. Tainted by you and all your wrong doings. Vengeance is for the Creator — I can’t tolerate that type of loyalty. Narcissism has a way of shaking your dreams like a peyote rattle in a sac religious ceremony.

#nativebillcosby

Life as an unsheltered homeless American Indian youth mobile case manager

Angela Alice Richards May 2020

Life as an unsheltered homeless American Indian youth mobile case manager

Home. A four lettered word found among many languages and cultures. Home a four lettered word not found in every family or friendship circle. Home a four lettered word with a plethora of meanings. Home a four lettered word that we mold and shape like clay to help make sense of our own situations. Home a four lettered word dictated by four walls. Home may not always mean windows and doors. Home a four lettered word that can make anyone’s heart beat rise or fall down to their feet. Home a four lettered word that comes with memories held closely or shaken violently. I don’t believe that home can be a physical place but rather a space in our collective imaginations that gives meaning to the five lettered word human. Human a five lettered word that is dictated by the terms civilized and barbarous. Human a five lettered word that is beyond our comprehension. Human a five lettered word that is undervalued and criticized. Human a five lettered word that today is taken for granted once it comes to error, which we are prone to. Human a five lettered word that is measured by success which in all reality means who’s imprint is deeper and not forgotten when we all return back to whence we came.

I found home in people, places, and parts of my imagination. I found home in my workplace which is the same place that youngins call their home. Home a feeling or sense that I bring everyday into this workplace to heal them, to heal me. I found home in stories, memories, and olfactory sense. Home a sense of belonging and returning back to our center that I bring everyday into this workplace to heal them, to heal me. Sage. Cedar. Sweetgrass and Yarrow roots to cleanse my body, mind, and soul. Sage to keep the bad medicine at bay. Cedar to keep in my shoes and wash in my hair as I think about how long I can really hold my breath for underneath this wave of colonization. Sweetgrass to honor the devine femininity that lives in all of our spirits that comes from under our feet. Yarrow to wash my body and purify my thoughts.

Mother

Angela Alice Richards Jul 2020

Mother

I don’t stop to think, is this new information to her?
We tell our mothers things that they already possess the knowledge of, the trials and errors of, but still our naive new breaths of fresh air are welcomed.
Her gentle breeze of proud washes over us, like the cool clean linens wrapped around our beds for us. Her hands fold like pow wow chairs meant for the two of us. A story sought and a story to tell. She wraps me up in her words and shines me up new like an abalone shell.

— The End —