ON MY NATIVE AMERICAN HERITAGE
My skin is dark brown, between the colors of light and dark chocolate.
My hair is black, with only a hint of sun-kissed brown along the edges of my face; it has never grown any longer than the base of my neck and is not curly or 'nappy', but tends to straighten out, after washing, after a couple of days of braiding or 'night curlers', without the need for heat or chemicals.
My nose is a short 'pug' nose, my lips are full, and my body has definite African American structure. I do not look "Indian", but I have always felt Indian.
I love nature, animals, rocks, fishing, living a 'gypsy' life, appreciating the wonders of God's creations.
Though I don't look Indian on the outside, I am Indian on the inside.
My experiences with the Camp Fire Girls, as a child, felt, to me, like the ritual training of becoming a fine Indian woman.
Nobody in my family--which has some Native American heritage--knew of the laws, regarding declaration of Indian blood. And in the passing generations, there is probably little "Native" blood left, but I know who I am.
I am an African American Indian.
My belief in this matter was authenticated, when in the Summer of 1988, at the Grand Canyon National Park, I was saluted by a passing tall, dark Son of the Southwest, whose being spiritually touched mine in the one-word recognition of who I am.
I had never seen him before, nor have I seen him since.
But he recognized me when he called me...
"Sis-ter!"
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.