In that wind, I pulled my blanket in to me,
The edges of it beat against my legs.
Above, clouds germinated over
Grey-grass hills, hiding the land line.
The finality of a grave is hard to see.
Dirt piled on wood and bones.
I wished to see a sapling, budding blue,
Or even a prairie fire in all that space.
~ by Marlon Footracer
__________________________________
Marlon Footracer grew up on the Navajo reservation in Arizona.
Footracer and Tanaya Winder, a Duckworth Shoshone from the Southern Ute reservation in Colorado, met in 2004 and now tutor undergraduates in the Native American Cultural Center on Sunday nights, and they have launched the Stanford Native American Poetry Society—SNAPS. In spring quarter they are co-teaching Since the Pulitzer, a student-initiated course about the work of Native American writers Sherman Alexie, Joy Harjo, Simon Ortiz and N. Scott Momaday, MA ’60, PhD ’63.
The edges of it beat against my legs.
Above, clouds germinated over
Grey-grass hills, hiding the land line.
The finality of a grave is hard to see.
Dirt piled on wood and bones.
I wished to see a sapling, budding blue,
Or even a prairie fire in all that space.
~ by Marlon Footracer
__________________________________
Marlon Footracer grew up on the Navajo reservation in Arizona.
Footracer and Tanaya Winder, a Duckworth Shoshone from the Southern Ute reservation in Colorado, met in 2004 and now tutor undergraduates in the Native American Cultural Center on Sunday nights, and they have launched the Stanford Native American Poetry Society—SNAPS. In spring quarter they are co-teaching Since the Pulitzer, a student-initiated course about the work of Native American writers Sherman Alexie, Joy Harjo, Simon Ortiz and N. Scott Momaday, MA ’60, PhD ’63.
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