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Native American

The next time you want to ban

brown skin from your white land ,

consider the crimson floods spilt

on burnt clay from red flesh.

 

You want brownfolk in this country

like we wanted pox in our quilts.

As our history is ripped to tattered patches

and replaced by a white silken sheet. 

 

But this is the land of the free

and this is the home of the brave.

And when I say brave

I don't mean that caricature

drawn on the front of a baseball jersey,

with buck teeth,

a bird feather

and  a tomahawk motion.

 

I mean the brave souls

that took a last stand

against the Custers

and the Mayflowers

and colonial white powers.

I mean the Sitting Bulls and Geronimos

who’s histories are rewritten

in Old Spaghetti Westerns.

Where John Wayne is always the hero,

and our people aren’t even cast

to play our own roles. 

 

Hollywood won't stoop to blackface

but red face is PC. 

Perfect Aryan models advertise American Apparel,

one authentic-looking headdress

and fifty-dollar native design

crop top tank tops

are like spoils to the victor.

It's enough to make one sick.

 

This is America,

where they steal your culture

and sell it back to you

at ten times the price.

Those faux hide moccasins,

**** on old tradition,

turn centuries old struggle

into a fashion faux-pas.  

 

I once had a conversation with a girl

whose skin was made of privilege.

She said, ”I thought Native Americans

wanted to live on reservations..?”

Let that resonate. Repeat.

as if we were getting a room

at the Four Seasons.

 

It was called the trail of tears

not the trail of whimsical wonder.

But in this white washed world

invasion is called settling

genocide is industry

and poverty is tax-free.

 

Our heritage is endangered,

our veins are booze-diluted

but at least we have those scholarships

which, I suppose, we’ll use

to cram our brains

with a history

that never belonged to us.

 

Perhaps, all of those centuries ago,

we should have thought to build a wall,

you know, to keep the immigrants out.

We could have stood at the border

with picket signs of self-deluded righteousness

lungs filled with hate

for a different colored human

shouting, "Go home, Alien,

your dreams are illegal here!"

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Written by
randi-b
American
Published
Sep 10, 2013
Lines·Words
72·378
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