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When people consider the meaning of genocide, they might only think of corpses being pushed into mass graves. But a person can be genocided—can have every connection to his past severed—and live to be an old man whose rib cage is a haunted house built around his heart.
I would guess, perhaps too optimistically, that nearly every racist believes it is morally wrong to be racist. And since nearly every person thinks of themselves as being moral, then a racist must consciously and subconsciously employ tortured logic in order to explain away their racism—in order to believe themselves to be nonracist.
alas, I’ve always been approximately 84 percent straight. Chief Gayfeather! I’m sure that shit would get students suspended and teachers fired in Reardan today. But it was acceptable in the 1980s. In some sad-ass spasm of self-denigration and self-preservation, I accepted that shit, too.
I am getting death threats. But I am more afraid of the quieter forms of right-wing anger and sociopathy that have found power with Donald Trump’s election.
On the reservation, My big brother kills an elk And cuts open its belly— Intending to eat its heart And praise the animal’s sacrifice— But instead finds the six hearts Of his six best friends who Have died in drunken car wrecks Over the last twenty years. Kneeling beside the elk, My brother pauses— Even a reservation Indian can be
Surprised by the bloody magic of things— Then feasts on his friends’ hearts And thanks God for the brief Moments when we are loved well And for those stretched-taut days When we are barely loved at all.
Watch me fly. Watch me fall. Applaud when I shatter.
