On her deathbed
Told her darkest secret
To her eldest child.
Her mother was Ojibwe
But she could pass as white.
So she did.
Burned every trace of who she was
Not even her husband knew.
She swore the child to secrecy
We must hide this great shame to survive.
And so it went.
Great grandmother carried this shame
And only told my grandmother as she died.
Finally able to share this burden.
As my grandmother grew older she did the same.
Only my uncle laughed
at the great family shame
And shared with his siblings.
Thinking the shame
could finally be laid to rest
While his siblings looked into
How to get their share
Of their tribal money.
5/3/2017
I wear my privilege like a mask
I wear my privilege like a mask
So I can pass as
Hetro
Christian
middle class
None of which are
who I am
This mask has
saved my life on more than one occasion
It cracks when I
forget to keep my mouth shut
And my real
identity burns through
I am lucky to
have this mask
Handed down from
ancestors who passed
Grandmothers who
passed, while their sisters were burned
Grandfathers who
passed, while their families were gassed in chambers masked as showers
Uncles who passed, while their brothers were hung
Aunties who
passed, while their cousins were sent to prisons masked as boarding
schools
I have this mask
because they kept silent and survived
Their tears have
burned the inside, polished the outside
I know how
blessed I am to pass
But, I would like
to drop the mask
And just be human