I guess I should close then with one of my poems.
"Always Running."
And in a way, I think it is--
I mean, the poem is about us.
It's a struggle with history and how
a historic trauma comes down through families
and generations.
But, again, I think, in a way, the speaker becomes returns
to that place in a way, at least I see her doing that.
Maybe the poem doesn't lead you there.
I'm not going to take apart my own poem right here.
[LAUGHS] Because I could use--
it goes back.
That's what I used to do when I would get in places when
I was younger, and I would get into this place of chaos.
I guess some people eat and sit in front of Netflix,
and others do other things.
And I was never a runner runner.
But I remember people running after me.
I would just go running.
It might be 2:00 in the morning or it might be--
I would just run, because I couldn't do it anymore.
I would let go and I would run.
"Running.
It's closing time.
Violence is my boyfriend with a cross to bear.
Hoisted on by the church, he wears it everywhere.
There are no female deities in the trinity.
I don't know how I'm going to get out of here, said
the flying fish to the tree.
Last call.
We've had it with history, we, who look for vision here
in the Indian and poetry bars somewhere to the left of hell.
Now I have to find my way when there's a river to cross
and no boat to get me there.
And there appears to be no home at all.
My father gun chased by the stepfather's gun.
Get out of here.
I found my father at the bar.
His ghost at least some piece of him in this sorry place.
The boyfriend's convincing to a crowd.
Right now he's the spell of attraction.
What tales he tells in the fog of thin hope.
I wander this sad world we've made with the enemy's words.
The lights quiver like they do when the power is
dwindling to a dangling string.
It's time to go home.
We are herded like stoned cattle,
like children for the bombing drill.
Out the door into the dark streets
of this old Indian town, where there are no Indians anymore.
I was afraid of the dark because then I could see everything.
The truth with its eyes staring back at me,
the mouth of the dark with its shiny moon teeth.
No words just to hiss and snap.
I could hear my heart hurting in the dark years.
I thought I could take it.
Where was the party?
It's been a century since we left home
with the American soldiers on our backs.
The party had long started up in the parking lot.
He flew through the dark, broke my stride with a punch.
I went down and came up.
I thought I could take being a girl
with her heart in her arms.
I carried it for justice.
For the rights of all Indians, we all had that cross to bear.
Those old ones follow me, the quiet girl
with the long dark hair, the daughter of a warrior who
wouldn't give up.
I wasn't ready yet to fling free the cross.
I ran and I ran to the 2:00 AM streets.
It was my way of breaking free.
I was anything but history.
I was the wind."
Thank you, Joy.
That was beautiful, especially to hear your work
at the very end.
I've never heard that poem read aloud by you,
and it was amazing.