Sublime

you will have survived starvation and relocation, indoctrination and assimilation,

Stray bullets and consequences are landing on our unsuspecting bodies even now.

Our names are poems, descriptions of animals, images that make perfect sense and no sense at all. We are Little Cloud, Littleman, Loneman, Bull Coming, Madbull, Bad Heart Bull, Jumping Bull, Bird, Birdshead, Kingbird, Magpie, Eagle, Turtle,

the woman inside impatiently waves Opal across like she’s doing all of humanity a favor.

Being Indian has never been about returning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere.

It’s a secret she holds so tight to her chest she never notices it.

You were both and neither.

Secrets lie through omission just like shame lies through secrecy.

Stories do more than comfort. They take you away and bring you back better made.