In the Corner

Here I stand in this godforsaken corner under a forgotten, sun scorched land beneath an expansive, desert sky. I squint in the melting sun at high noon my proud, deeply tanned face is lined like a road map, carved and etched from years of exposure to the elements. A hot wind swiftly lifts and carries large tumbleweeds across the dusty roads of the reservation. I can see old paint peeling around the edges of a trading post sign, rusted out cars with their hoods open gathered like a weary convention along the arroyo canyon, and a lone roadrunner scurrying among the saguaro cactus. My ancestors were a proud people once roaming freely over this vast country. They loved the land and respected it. When the white man came, we welcomed them, until we saw they wanted to take our land from us. Then we fought like warriors, but were soon outnumbered. Now we have been relegated to these largely barren swaths of land on the outskirts of society. Here we languish, yet we will rise again once more. I am a Native American and I have been put in the corner. Written on 3/25/2017