I am the mudblood... I am the cur, the poor mixed up kid with dark skin and light eyes..... I am the fragment of what was and what is..... I am the mudblood I am the progeny of generations of deceit and lies, the offspring of Red dead covered with flies I am the son of mothers who died frozen in the snow in Kentucky, the embryo of forgotten blue-black haired women with names that a white tongue cannot pronounce I am the mudblood I am a mudblood descended from protestant Gaels who sought freedom in a new land the same folks who stole it by slight of hand and their religion replaced the chants and songs handed down by the Adawehi, sounds that lasted for generations..... I am the mudblood I am mudblooded dirty and shoeless on flint rock hills, walking the blacktop in search of dollar bills.... and we were rich compared to our neighbor I am mudblooded I am a mudblood sent away to a school far from home, beaten up by the fullboods and then their backs turned to me left alone... spit on for my light eyes I am a mudblood I am the mudblood.... never enough Red and too much White but not enough to attain the right to live amongst blueblooded capitalists who send their kids to college while my Red brothers fight their wars I am the mudblood I am the mudblood and I answer to a given Christian name followed by a surname butchered by a census taker's careless translation the same name that a guilty America now finds in fascination and tries to emulate in some new age adoration I am the mudblood I am a mudblood impure and a mongrel of shared chromosomes, no legacy to proclaim, no claim to fame, no rules to the game none that I can find to live by anyways I am a mudblood my CDIB fractionalizes my blood and all those integers only stir up the mud the silt that flows in my veins the freckles on a high forehead the clumsiness in my diction I am the mudblood my clan Brothers leave me uninvited outside the Circle, my face slighted the rich kids beg for more while a drum beats a slow steady stomp I am the mudblood I retreat into time and space of my own creation and here I find solace in my part of the Nation my Grandfather's brown calloused hands I remember on my shoulder a crane feather in my hair I am the mudblood I am the mudblood and my children will be muddy as well only time will tell if they will find their place on either side of the dividing line between red and white or if they too will deal with their demons or struggle with their light eyes and their 'dark' name they will be the mudblood I am the mudblood Howa!! Nihinahv? Ha! how easily I may have forgotten How easily I remembered, huh? I am the mudblood, come what may Asquadvhi, that is all I have to say. |
"Half Indian/Half Mexican" © James Luna - 1991
Charlotte Townsend-Gault on James Luna
mudblood
© Wauhilau - 2003
gathered from the net
"Half Breed" by Al Capps & Mary Dean
bead bar courtesy of Greasy Grass