Assimilation Blues

Assimilation Blues
Grandmother, I am sad.
Come, sit. Together we will be sad.
Bowed heads, silently honoring the Sad.
Sometimes a song, sometimes a story,
Sometimes silence,
Breathing the Sad,
Heads bowed sitting with the Sad.
The people come,
Tonight we sing until the sun shows,
Acknowledging Sad’s message received.
Tomorrow we laugh and eat,
Honoring the Sad;
continuing life.
Assimilation Mother, I am sad.
Don’t be sad.
Have something sweet to eat, something pretty to buy,
Forget the Sad.
Assimilation Doctor, I am sad.
Sad is not real.
Have a pill,
Hide the Sad.
Assimilation Friend, I am sad.
Tell me about it, details, details.
Open the wound,
Cleanse the Sad.
Grandmother, where are you?
There is no one to honor the Sad.
Grandmother, I remember you.
Now I am Alone, with the Sad.
Alone, with the songs,
Alone, the Sad grows great.
Grandmother, where are you?
About this entry
You’re currently reading “Assimilation Blues,” an entry on Native American Talisman Art Blog
- Published:
- March 18, 2009 / 5:58 pm
- Category:
- Off the Rez Poetry and other writings
- Tags:
- american indian, assimilation, blues, doctor, friend, grandmother, mother, native american, native talisman, paula bidwell, poetry, sad, sadness, tribal, tribe, tribes

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