Taku Wakaƞ Wiƞ Yaƞ y Unċi Wо̄ Wapi
(A Lakota Prayer)
for PJ

Son, let me be honest with you about the
Crucifixion of our mother tongue.
You will never speak the language of our
Mothers and Fathers
The way we used to.
That's true.
But O————--
To you
These Black Hills still smell like
The old ocean,
My love.
And we hear you singing, fancy dancing like
The undergrowth. America——it's napping as
You are awake, your drawn back heart wild.

Writer's Statement: I want people to know about my mother's culture and come to understand what it means to be a passing indigenous person.