Fall 2010 TCJ STUDENT EDITION
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STUDENT EDITION - PAGE 2
Introduction by Gloria J. Emerson
My Sweetest Victory By Desirae Grignon
Good Hair By Jaime Figueroa
Indun Love By L. Madden, Jr.
The Black Footed Ferret By Marvin Ashley
A Wolf Named Bear By Emanuel Red Bear III
Kaleidoscope By Christopher Marshall
The Last Battle By Kari Eneas
Page 2
Waiting for Spring By Melanie Erickson
They Tell Me By Shaina Nez
Bittersweet By Ruth McLain
Wicasa By Lynn Cuny
Apple Delicious By Marvin Stops
Foresight of Hope By Kari Eneas
Page 3
Where are we going? By Brian Sloan
The Perfect Recipe By Chamisa Edmo
The Loyal Desert Flower By Joey Dunn
Pejuta Wakan - Sacred Medicine By Brandon LaMere
Iron Horse By Schyler Martin
What Goes Around Comes Around By Brandon LaMere
Old Soul By Maranee Bowen
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Waiting for Spring
By Melanie Howick Erickson
You broke your promise and did not come today.
Yesterday you touched my shoulder –
a soft breath of warmth –
But you did not stay.
I smelled you in the forest,
earthy, damp, green,
your mantle of hard, white marble beginning to crack,
your softening yet to be seen.
It was your voice I heard –
distant in the swaying boughs,
rustling in the old, dry grasses.
So long to come, so quickly gone –
we are waiting, waiting.
Melanie Howick Erickson grew up in England and has attended Leech Lake Tribal College in Cass Lake, MN, as a part-time student for the past two years. She describes her passion about writing: “I love to write, and my poetry is an expression of the things that touch me deeply, whether it is the mystery of nature or the pain and joy life brings to all people.”
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They Tell Me
By Shaina April Nez
They tell me to come with them, that I will be safe.
I do, but I am not at all.
They tell me to cut my hair, so it won’t be in my way.
I do, but where will my wisdom fall?
They tell me to change my name because they cannot pronounce it.
I do, but who am I now?
They tell me to never speak my language because it is poison.
I do, but how will I speak?
They tell me to never look to the east and pray.
I do, but how will my creator hear me?
They tell me to learn the white man’s ways.
I do, but what about my own ways?
They tell me to never look back at my culture or way of life again.
I do, but whose life will I be living now?
They tell me to wear their clothes so I will look just like them.
I do, but I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.
They tell me to do all these things.
I do…
So I can return home like they promised.
Shaina April Nez (Diné) attends Diné College. She is from Lukachukai, AZ, and her clans are Tach’iini nishli, Ashiihi bashashchiin, Tanezaahnii Da Shichei, Kin Lichiini Da Shinali. She says, “This poem is about the interpretation I got when I was learning about the boarding school experience in the late 1880s.”
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Bittersweet
By Ruth Laws McLain
Memories of Mama’s kitchen:
Laughter, our favorite
ingredient. Clanging pots rival
the mixer’s whirr
over sisters’ chatter.
Semi-sweet morsels
bittersweet in homemade brownies
brown in the harvest gold
vault. Chilly milk awaits
our indulgence.
“Can we lick the bowl?”
“May we,” she corrects.
Bittersweet beaters
licked clean through smiles.
“Let me get something
to write with,” and I
put down the phone.
“All-purpose flour,
dark muscovado sugar”
Sharing recipes
and laughter always
brings back sweet memories
of that Mississippi kitchen.
Ruth Laws McLain (Cherokee) is a senior majoring in American Indian Studies at Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, KS. After her graduation, she will enter law school. She plans on specializing in environmental justice issues. McLain believes, “Poetry emphasizes precise word selection. The writing skills learned under Professor Trish Reeves will aid me in writing legal briefs.”
WICASA
By Lynn Marie Cuny
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Show me a man
With thick braids of balance
With ears pierced of burden.
Show me a man
Wearing a shirt of leadership
Wearing a scalp lock of responsibility.
Show me a man
Who uses his presence humbly
Who uses his mind patiently.
Show me a man
With arrows of protection
With medicine of acceptance.
Show me a man
With a singing voice of love
With a vision of compassion.
Show me a man
With prayers for the people
With sacrifices for creation.
Show me a man
With war paint of wisdom
With rawhide shield of pity.
Show me a man
Who rides a war pony of forgiveness
Who beats a hand drum of hope.
Show me a man
Mature enough to dance alone
Understanding enough to dance together.
Show me a man
Conscious enough to recreate
Tangible enough to guide.
Show me a man
Who encompasses respect.
Show me a man
Who can believe in my spirit.
Lynn Marie Cuny is from the Crow Creek Dakota and Oglala Lakota tribes and graduated from the Institute of American Indian Arts with a two-dimensional design associate degree in May 1999. She also graduated from Oglala Lakota College (OLC) in 2004 with an associate degree in Lakota Studies and in 2006 with a bachelor’s degree in Lakota Studies. Cuny emphasizes the importance of her education: “I hope to achieve a Master’s Degree in Lakota Leadership & Management from OLC to help my people and [to honor] my grandmother, Doreen.”
Apple Delicious
By Marvin Wes Stops, Jr.
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Silently, from the screen
door, tiptoeing to the steps,
hands hiding an
Adam branded Apple.
Delicious.
Every bite sweeter
than the last; moments
that deserve clusters
of childish smiles.
Mom pushes the
door wide open
with mouthfuls of laughter,
she says, “Don’t eat
too much, you will
get a stomachache.”
I tell her, “It’s too
late; my stomach
aches for more.”
Mom says, “Tell me,
apple eater, tell me,
purple or blue?”
Confused, I question
her meaning.
“Purple is as sweet
as blue is deep.”
Confusion wiped clean,
fortunate as I am,
I understand it’s
not a proverb
or a joke,
but a koan.
Marvin Wes Stops, Jr. will graduate with an Associate of Arts Degree in Haskell’s Creative Writing program in the fall of 2010. He is enrolled in the Crow Tribe and would like to pursue a bachelor’s degree one day.
Foresight of Hope
By Kari Eneas
The cries of a nation in pain,
scorned by the blinding hatred of a history long forgotten,
Silent thought whispering beneath the surface of a silhouetted pond,
stilled by a hidden hierarchy.
With the leadership of a brazen warrior, a false unity was surmised,
a moment’s reprieve from the ordinary yes,
but ever destructive in its descent to reality.
Like strings in a quartet, we were plucked to play our lamented hymn.
A friendly smile soon turned to the laughter of betrayal,
howling in your ears like a jackal.
Shaken and vulnerable, the herd disperses into the shadows,
attracting hyenas like a scattered carcass
only to tear more wounds.
The sounds of drums resound beyond the canyons of a shielding blockade,
the beat of ancestral drums drowned by the thrumming of thousands of marching feet,
leagues across the sea.
One voice reigns above all others with a persuading argument for change,
penetrating the torrent,
overcast with a beam of hope for the people.
Light pierces the darkened chasms within
unity driving the lost to their flocks.
A gathered people joining together under the wings of a soaring soul,
as a whole the journey of a new direction ensues.
Kari Eneas is enrolled in the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes and attends Salish Kootenai College in Pablo, MT. She says, “Writing has always been a major part of my life, as well as band and choir. I am currently employed with the Salish and Kootenai Tribes as a Wildlife Biologist Trainee, and I will continue on with my education to achieve a Master’s in Wildlife Biology.”