Monday, February 15, 2016

Gathering reference and considering the question:

"What does it look like from an Indian woman's gaze when an Indian man looks at a white woman like the moon?"

My Indian man and his white woman
Will be proud,
Like they've each won a prize
At the county fair.

My Indian man will look at his white woman
Like she is the moon.
He will carry her picture
Like a religious icon.
He will wear pieces of her
Around his neck
Like a trophy,
Like she is the medicine
To heal his ancestral hurt
And the shame of his brown skin.

My Indian woman will walk away
Hurt by consistent slighting
Of her efforts to glorify a man
Who only glorifies his white woman.

My Indian woman will walk away
On moccasins torn from his flesh.
Her Indian man will never feel the pain.
He will think my Indian woman is unreasonable.
He will see no damage
In leaving his sisters
in the cold.
White men have informed his notion of warrior,
Corrupted his memory.

My Indian woman can only feel rest
Next to the skin of her loves,
Only feel safe
With her people.
My Indian man takes this knowledge for granted
And lets her walk.

Jess McPherson

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