Deidra Suwanee Dees
Shadows
I loathe
the lure of the
white world
but I run
from shadows
on the reservation
I’m compelled
to crossover to the
ancestors’ land
though I violently fight
for a place
among the living
I’m frightened
to look down
the barrel of the gun
but my finger
is not afraid
to pull the trigger
Eagle Feather
when I was a child
I used to hide my Muscogee feathers
because I thought they represented my shame,
when I became a woman
I began to wear the wounded feather
to honor my nation’s devastating pain,
now that I’m a mother,
I boldly wear the eagle feather
to show my ride into the enemies’ eyes
making them take their blame
Stay Away from Blacks
teacher said “you must stay away from Blacks,
they’re all communists,”
high school principal insisted “we’re not
letting them in our school”
Indians, Jews, Latinos, Chinese, whites—
all races who could pay tuition were welcome
at my school… unless you were Black;
daddy took me to the whiteman’s church
that said jesus died for all races—all races?
when I questioned the absence
of Blacks, no one could give me a good clear
answer; so I grew with a self-contained desire to
find out what was wrong
with these excluded brown-skinned people;
secretly, while teacher was steeped
in bigotry, I became friends with Blacks in
Junior Achievement,
quietly, while the whiteman’s church
pretended jesus died for all races, I found that
my Black friends were already saved;
now I am grown and I listen to my own
voice; no longer secretly, I openly embrace
brown-skinned people of all races,
and never quietly, I defend the rights of
the marginalized Black
race that I was brought up to hate
Magnolia Leaf
thin strand
loose end waving
from the magnolia leaf,
clear water droplets
in beaded
succession
line up on the spider’s strand
as dew
retreats from first light;
Muscogee pearls
unrivaled by
COVID-nineteen
Your Grandmothers
your grandmothers
were owned by white people
—my people were not,
they did not buy and sell us,
they did not force us to cook for them,
clean toilets,
pick cotton,
they did not
force us to lay down for them,
but now we do it for free
Turn My Lights Back On
foraging for nickels and quarters
through bubblegum
wrappers and sticky stuff between
the couch cushions
to turn my lights back on
to warm my baby’s bottle of milk,
to cook my children’s supper
to wash my kids’ school clothes
to run them a hot bath
to show my kids cartoons,
breaking through the Sunday countdown,
radio says a rocket took pictures
of Saturn’s moons
searching for signs of life,
costing taxpayers millions of dollars,
swallowing earth air, asking myself
how can they spend this money
to search for life on Saturn’s moons
while life on earth is still undone?
My Grandmother
you killed my grandmother
to stop future brownskin babies
from being born
who would remind you
the land you live on
is stolen,
the faces you paint on
you currency
are liars,
the people you descended from
are murderers,
you drink in a cup of jesus
on sunday—
it is my blood you drink!
to fill your belly
with nourishment
of manifest destiny,
how fat you have grown
on juices of jesus,
manifest destiny,
and brownskin babies
Trapped
my body has not been
cleaned for
many days
—smell of my own body grease
trapped inside
cotton clothing,
decomposing dishes
overflowing my
sink,
nightmare of
COVID-nineteen
invades me
Alcohol Woman
painful childhood of neglect,
abandonment, stealing
the last remnant of my Indianness
alcohol woman breezed back to the rez
twenty-two winters later
without warning, dropping by my trailer
gifting me with expensive
leather photo album, encircled
baby picture
glowering on cover,
alone, body draped with liquor-laden
time, newly swallowed by COVID-19,
miserable attempt to play
the mother role she sold for libation,
nothing from me,
awkwardly shuffling out the door,
agony runs through my consciousness,
like untamed horses
stamping out my existence,
collecting my senses, reminding
myself time had gnawed off the edge,
figured out how to live without
a mother or a father,
desperately needed a mother back then,
irrelevant,
COVID reckoning, misery was
paid—alcohol woman is not needed now,
accomplishments…
amassing strength from childhood
of adversity and peril,
remembering how far I’ve come
on my own… garbage can gulps down
cheap leather photo album
Dance
I watched the golden moon
drip, drip, drip
until she fell into dog river;
moss-laden oaks
watched the shiny moon
smile
as she hid among the ripples,
an old Muscogee wind blew
a tiny note of
rhythm
to her playful mischief,
I watched the gods of nature
dance
before the stars
just like they danced before
our grandmothers
ten thousand years before
Deidra Suwanee Dees: “I follow the Muscogee stompdance traditions and serve as the Director/Tribal Archivist at the Poarch Band of Creek Indians. I teach Native American Studies at the University of South Alabama, initiated by the Tribe. Despite the difficult financial struggle, I earned my doctorate at Harvard writing my dissertation on the Muscogee Education Movement, documenting the fight for Creek’s equal access to public education. As an animal advocate, I adopted shelter pets who are members of our family. Heleswv heres, mvto.”
