By
Rain
Prud’homme-Cranford (Goméz), Ph.D
These are things I need to say:
but language and words
were ripped from my tongue
Residential school
Jim Crow feather
but language and words
were ripped from my tongue
Residential school
Jim Crow feather
soldiers
swarming
our land our homes
uprooting us from soil—
roots dangling
string fingers
clinging to clutch
clumps of Earth
our land our homes
uprooting us from soil—
roots dangling
string fingers
clinging to clutch
clumps of Earth
These are things I need to say:
but mouth is dry
arid fragile skin
opens bleeding
hollow space between
tongue and teeth cracks
from drought
from poison water
but mouth is dry
arid fragile skin
opens bleeding
hollow space between
tongue and teeth cracks
from drought
from poison water
These are things I need to say:
ancestors circle round
pepper spraying police
choking our
relatives’ throats—
reaching to hold water
slipping through fingers
toes digging into
brown dirt
ancestors circle round
pepper spraying police
choking our
relatives’ throats—
reaching to hold water
slipping through fingers
toes digging into
brown dirt
These are things
we need to say—
Sing us home
shatter violent silence
come down rain
churning rivers
ocean waves
we need to say—
Sing us home
shatter violent silence
come down rain
churning rivers
ocean waves
We ride a tempest of
surging water
surging water
#WaterIsLife #RezspectOurLandbase #StandingRock
©Rain Prud’homme-Cranford 2016
Rain won the First Book Award in Poetry from NWCA (2009), for Smoked Mullet Cornbread Crawdad Memory (MEP 2012). Critical and creative work can be found in various journals including: The Southern Literary Journal, Louisiana Folklife, Undead Souths: The Gothic and Beyond (LSU P), Mississippi Quarterly, Tidal Basin Review, Sing: Indigenous Poetry of the Americas, As Us, Yellow Medicine Review, and many others.