A poem dedicated to my mother. Wyampum Nez Perce.

This poem is about the fear of hearing bad news. With a extended and large kinship there was a time where death was a constant occurrence and I repressed answering and talking with family out of fear of hearing anything negative.

Obsidians journey through lineage.

A Yakama tribal member whose both a shaker and proclaimed follower of "unwritten law" berated my attempt at dialogue and conversation by stating I had no right to talk on any issued because I'm not enrolled with Yakama Nation. But they can love my homeland of Celilo but dismiss indigenous roots out of reactionary anger and vanity.

This poem was written spring of 2015. I had learned about my father's indigenous name not being traded back and also not even being told about his name being released. It was by people that run a culture resource program that title themselves as: "excellence in leadership."

The buy native campaign and hundred percent native business out of Seattle has acted as if there was no living culture before they introduced their idea of culture asethetic and bias identity. Like there was no kinships or grandmothers who had hearts to survive.

On the Yakama Indian Reservation and the neighboring Benton County make the majority of the world's hops. Although sovereignty status is thrown around as this glorious agreement. Our communities experience a dark contrast compared to the wealth made for other people on indigenous land.

This poem is about identity and self-worth and searching to regain purpose by having the love of matrilineal lineage.