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
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