Marching orders

by Deborah Jang

Sometimes pre-dawn I pretend

I’m hiding from the Nazis

I slo mo breathe in semi-darkness
inches from light sleeper 

Each inhalation rising smooth
drawn deep from belly

ballooning lungs, up open throat,
a u-turn at the larynx

Then straight out rounded lips
suspended in a gentle O

All of the above of course —
silent, slow, steady.

If we were in Krakow
a frosty puff would linger.

Here, into a world of hurt,
this one bare breath alights.

I make myself a secret, a refugee
from sight. A figment of creation.

Arm waves softly through dark air.
No creak. No chafe. No bristle.

No cough. No smacking of dry lips.
No errant bump or sniffle.

With focused grace the body knows
the margins of its bearing.

A patch of air is all that lies
between liberty and terror. 

Trampling boots kick hard against
the mind’s hard won freedom.

Flesh winces at the thought
of quick, steel toed precision, 

of the pounding at the door,
the stench of human danger.

History guts presence
with shards of hate and fear. 

Renders mute our sorrow.
sends us to our caves

where in sacred silence
each breath softly quickens.

We make way through harrow
in dusky daring measure.

Mind’s eye searches escape routes
past the brink of dire.

If we were in Krakow we’d pile
in the cellar, shush the baby sister,

lock eyes with the neighbors.
cringe into harsh light.

Would I not go gentle
without hiss or fight?

Would I link arms with others
and march into harm’s way?

Would I face tall gallows
with head held up high? 

Would I offer comfort
on the train to chambers?

Not look away or wither
from the cruel of might?

Moon and sun trade places.
I breathe in morning skies. 

I pray with extra fervor.
I note the warning signs.

Practice silence in the air
Walk with care, stare down demise.

Ease each out-breath into flow.
Let each find its way to brave

whole and holy into the fray.
Breath by breath by breath, unhide.

Marching orders is included in Float True by Deborah Jang.

© Deborah Jang. All Rights Reserved.

 

Deborah Jang writes her way through the mysteries, perplexities, and joys of being human — on this planet, at this moment, in this skin. She is also a visual artist, engaging connection through forms and objects. She wanders between Denver, CO and Oceanside, CA; between mind and heart; between land and sea. She is the author of Float True. 
deborahjang.com

Read Native Authors. Hear Native Storytellers.

To ensure the voices of Native American and Indigenous writers and storytellers – past, present, and future – are heard throughout the world. 

—Lee Francis III, Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers

Writing is a legitimate way, an important way, to participate in the empowerment of the community that names me. —Toni Cade Bambara

Arts of Patience

by Kim Shuck 

We’ve been collecting stairs for years 
Stairs and the notion of stairs 
Build with them like children do 
Just like playing with blocks we will 
Paint them with heart ideas with generational hope 
May yet reach the somewhere else we had in mind 
We wanted so little in those days 
Between the bingo and 
Collecting funerals 
Houses subside and the 
Screen door doesn’t fit quite the 
Hedge apples grow 
Thorn and poison in the way that they have 
We collect these things 
Comb the rivers and 
Creeks the margins of change for things like 
Glass bottles to exchange for bait 
Catch other things that we want too and all of my heroes 
Were good at fileting fish 
And we were in the living room 
Gathering stairs in boxes and 
Pressed flat in books and 
Trying not to hide them 
Trying not to feel guilty

© Kim Shuck. All rights reserved. 

Kim Shuck a native of San Francisco whose work explores her multiethnic roots, is San Francisco’s seventh poet laureate. 

A lifelong resident of San Francisco, Shuck lives in the Castro district. Her poetry collections include Clouds Running In, Rabbit Stories, Smuggling Cherokee and Deer Trails. Shuck also teaches at the California College of Art, in the diversity department, and has taught at San Francisco State University. She has volunteered in San Francisco Unified School District classrooms for two decades. www.kimshuck.com

She Cries

by Linda Boyden

She stands alone, 
cold,shaking, 
four years old, 
freshly plucked 
from Mamá’s arms 
dumped into 
a cold building 
with other children, 
silent or moaning, 
all strangers. 

Above her towers a 
mountain of a man 
dark clothes, 
darker expression. 
He spews 
harsh, foreign words 
she doesn’t understand. 
She sees the anger 
etched on his face 
his eyes like a snake’s, 
cold, unforgiving. 

She wets herself 
cries harder 
her legs give out 
she sits down hard 
rough hands 
grab her 
rougher words 
sting her ears. 

She cries 
for Mamá and Papí. 
She is a good girl 
she is alone, afraid, 
and she mourns. 
She will never forget.

© Linda Boyden. All rights reserved. 

Linda Boyden is a storyteller and the author of The Blue Roses, published in 2002 by Lee and Low Books, winning their first New Voices Award. Since then it has won two other national awards and was included on the CCBC (Cooperative Children's Book Center) 2003 Choices list of recommended titles. Her second book, Powwow's Coming, was published by the University of New Mexico Press in 2007. She illustrated it making the pictures from cut-paper collage. Her third book Giveaways: An ABC Book of Loanwords from the Americas was also published by the University of New Mexico Press and again she had the privilege of illustrating the book. A recovering schoolteacher with over thirty years of experience, she has spent most of her adult life leading children to literacy. She enjoys performing at schools and working with students, school visits, storytelling programs at libraries, and presenting at writing conferences and other events around the country. 

Linda is a member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) and Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers, and her local Redding Writers Forum.