This week, we have joined the artist and organizers who have activated a nationwide wave of creative resistance, Fall of Freedom. Check out their site for events scheduled around the country and enjoy this two-part PonyXpress edition.
To accompany work by some of our Indigenous writers, we have selected historical images from the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC. We want to note the way the antiquated images cast a sepia-toned nostalgia of Native people in contrast to the living poetry of our writers. Stories of generation trauma and survival punctuate the narrative and speak to the importance listening to a chorus of voices as we document our history. | TDS
Generational Struggle by R. Miranda
I was born one of the fortunate ones; if that’s what you want to call a Native Mexican who is born north of that ‘imaginary’ line called the border. A line that divides our land in two and calls one half Mexico, and the other half the United States. This imaginary, yet physical, line seems to have also created a division in the culture of our people — or has it?
A Survivor by Nolan James Briden
Grandma Rosie awoke to the doctor telling her she’d be okay. Having previously lost her twins, Johnny and Joseph, she was too scared to ask about her baby. The doctor left and quickly returned asked her if she’d like to meet her son. She named my father Joseph. My grandma told my dad, “After how you was born, I knew you’d always be okay.” Words that he in turn told me.
Brotherhood Scars
Harley Boitz
I sit on the slide to the Medford playground. At age fifteen, I am freshly on the lam with my best friend at the time. We think we should have matching scars to solidify our newfound Brotherhood. Not playing attention, because we were also trying to touch the stars (we were so high), I flinch when I feel this slight burn on my shoulder. That’s when I realize, I’ve been branded with a lighter: a burned smiley face. It didn’t hurt at all, but instead brought an immense sense of joy and a feeling of loyalty. I was proud to accept the scar, even more happy to brand my newly found brother. With the scent of burning flesh tinting the air, we laugh and smile and plan our future together. We think we were invincible, and nothing will separate brothers. We ask each other what we would like to do, and I answer, take over the world. It seemed that way too. We had money, drugs, women, and we threw the best parties. Not even two weeks later, I was arrested, and I was never to see my brother again, or so I thought … Thirteen years later, in prison, I was playing basketball this dude asked me if I still have my scar on my shoulder. I stare at him — blank faced until I realized that I was staring at my long, lost brother and he showed me his car. I gave him a big hug, and we talked about our lives lost without each other.
All the Times by Kristie Jeffers
It seems I’ve screamed ten
thousand times,
trying hard to stop, and listen
for that sound of you.
I Remember by Jeff Witt
Fifty-seven percent of us, right out of the gate, were subject to developmental issues, impulse control, low self-esteem, and reduced educational achievements. JESUS, that sounds bleak. I started to doubt the data — no way that is right ... but then I remember the man I killed, and think, Should I be alive? If I had just died overseas he might be alive. My wife and kids wouldn’t have to go through this. Maybe I did die. Maybe one of those close calls was closer than I realized. Was it one of the IEDs or that sniper round that cracked past me, or the motorcycle wreck, or a bar fight? Am I alive? The lack of feeling sometimes would suggest otherwise.
Eulogy to My Grandfather by Hugh Crow
How can I apply a snow-white sheet of forgiveness to myself
when my acts of offense have stained me black as an oil well?
Too ashamed to admit it, son, how I abandoned you and ran,
scared of tears and fear rejection I couldn’t voice it man-to-man.
I Am A Survivor by Matt Reyes
For me, the best warrior that I can be is one who is there for family helping them repair themselves from the horrific and painful harms have been imposed upon them through generational trauma. I always thought that “protecting” my family was using physical violence. This result is I am serving a life sentence on those beliefs alone. This did not protect my family; it only protected MY pride.
My Shrine
Nathan Koyote Cutfinger
A tree for growth and deep roots
to represent my family ties and how I’ve grown
every branch to explain the directions
I’ve gone, even tho’ I’ve gone towards every path,
I’ve grown to rise above
my last. My days were like leaves
I’ve shed with seasons
To only end tall and strong.
And finally a film recommendation:
Sugarcane “the debut feature documentary from Julian Brave NoiseCat and Emily Kassie, is an epic cinematic portrait of a community during a moment of international reckoning. In 2021, evidence of unmarked graves was discovered on the grounds of an Indian residential school run by the Catholic Church in Canada, sparking a national outcry and setting off searches across North America. After years of silence, the forced separation, assimilation and abuse many children experienced at these segregated boarding schools is coming to light. Set amidst a groundbreaking investigation, Sugarcane illuminates the heartbreak and beauty of a community breaking cycles of intergenerational trauma and finding the strength to survive.”