By Rain Prud'homme-Cranford
When we weep
Mothers cry with us.
When we weep
Grandmothers pat their eyes.
Bits of blood and spit,
Dried salt and amniotic fluid
Make tears falling briefly,
Before we push them away--
As all weeping women before us.
Gathering strength from toes
Rooted in soil memories
And arms strong with
Weeping women cling
To the edge of dream
Crying for their lost children,
Crying for their husbands.
With sobs too deep and full
Of histories of biting back moans
That their tears fall as silent as death.
Against the rough periphery of memory
The whimper of ladies’ lamentations
Carve tributaries of grief inherent
In blood, from the fishing towns of
The Mississippi river to the
Buffalo plains of Saskatchewan.
Separated by geography.
United by blood.
They sing songs of sorrow
Into our unconscious actions---
Laced with brittle
Copyright © Rain Prud'homme-Cranford. All rights reserved.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rain
Prud'homme-Cranford is a poet, academic, musician and spoken word artist. Currently she is a Sutton Fellowship Doctoral student in English at the University of Oklahoma. She is the author of Smoked Mullet Cornbread Crawdad Memory, winner of the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas First Book Award, Poetry. Her work has appeared in various journals including Ahani: Indigenous American Poetry and American Indian Culture and Research Journal. Rain’s critical work focuses on (re)inserting Mvskogean and Creole Indigeneity into Southern Literary experience.
By Jenny L. Davis I didn’t carry my ancestors’ bones with me to this Midwestern place. I could not hear their voices. I asked Rab...
By Rain Prud’homme-Cranford (Goméz), Ph.D These are things I need to say: but language and words were ripped from my tongue Resi...
Rebecca Hatcher Travis bases the poems in this exquisite collection on memories of her Chickasaw family and the Oklahoma lands...
by Linda Rodriguez Coyote wails in the far field beside his woods. He runs yelping, baying among the trees, hot on your trail ...
by Linda Rodriguez The man and woman in the frozen park at midnight are crazy. See them dance—come together, her eyes spitting, hi...
By Linda Boyden ©2015 Listen to the silence of the great trees. Birds shelter among branches heads tucked beneath wings, feathe...
By M. Carmen Lane you are only interested in the dead pieces of me black woman raped/ tracked by white men with b...
by Terra Trevor Great Auntie Josephine sits in her wheelchair. At eighty her hair is still mostly black, but she is too despondent to do ...
Tomol Evening by Terra Trevor