Color in the Lines

You made me, yet you disclaim me:
relative sown
in the blood shed
the massacre made to relish over
new religion
the known god --
an unknown doctrine placed in the hands
of egoists, exploring the new world
in search of gold
riches. fame fortune glory.
The Spanish ego;
but you made me -- blood of red tierra
the Navajo, the one people
of the sun.

Fortune? Glory?
You are part of a bigger being --
Mother Earth, Madre Santa, la tierra del soul.
my earth.
Don't seek gold when the hands you crawl on
are filled with emptiness and lies
fortunes left to drought
alongside the thousands of dying soldiers
this side and the next.

Forever young, I'd mourn my blood
wonder why I could never be pure enough...
Mestiza -- you Mexican? You White? You American?
You Black? You Indian? You Pocha?
You Primitive? You Chicana? You Spanish?
You Latina? Hispanic? Have culture?
What are you?
How about if we gut you
and mix the pieces around until it makes sense to us?

Tell me, Jessica Marie Wilson, what the fuck are you?

When was human never enough?

- Written by this human being of Earth

Comments

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The mind, a dormant stone

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