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Nine Emerging Native Voices, edited by Chicago’s Mark Turcotte.
When ACM asked me if I’d be interested in helping feature the work of Native poets to begin during National Poetry Month, I immediately thought it would be a great opportunity to ask a variety of Native poets I admire for recommendations to emerging poets. They were happy to share some names, both familiar and unknown to me. I was pleased by the generous and trusting responses I received from these poets, and I’m grateful to ACM for entrusting me with the process. — Mark Turcotte
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having a coke an iced matcha with 2 pumps of vanilla and almond milk with you
xxxxxxxxxxxxx after having a coke with you by Frank O’Hara
reminds me of that one song by that one guy that i know i’ve only heard that one time that goes
something like
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
and i can’t seem to remember anything else
but that you prefer iced dr peppers and you only
started playing chess a month ago
and your hand is in my pocket when you say
something about bismark and im trying hard to
remember everything you’re saying about the color brown
but i still can’t remember the song and
we really only have today
so while you trace the lines on my hands
we agree that cherries and oranges can be shared so far apart
and we prefer cloudy days and sunny eggs
and you’ll teach me how to play chess if i teach you some apache
then while you’re taking selfies on my phone
you decide kendrick is also your favorite rapper and i ignore that you think
DAMN is better than TPAB
and you’re happy i’ve never been to south dakota or bismark like i’m happy you’ve never been
to whiteriver or santa fe
partly because i like how your hair curls and for some reason it reminds me of the violin
partly because i like saying your name, partly because of your love for pastries
partly because of the way you make the horrible music playing, my new favorite songs
partly because i know you’re holding the back of my jacket and i like that no one knows anything about either of us really
and sharing this walk through downtown abq
i wonder how anyone lives without-
abalone jingle earrings
split fig valentines day, i wish the weather matched mauvesunsets
sticky icing under fingernail and ribbons caught in throat
i wish i had a green thumb
blushed pueblo hearts on cheekmound
my fortunate cookie reads
you are a star!
marie antoinette would
have loved little debbie valentine’s day cakes
we are both soo financially fucked
you call me sweetheart in norwegian and
i pretend not to know
do you like queen anne’s cordial cherries?
did you know trees grieve one another?
i wonder how long they hold grief in their bodies
i wonder how grief sticks in tree ring?
when trees die- they send out their last nutrients to the younger trees in their community
and they die
but no one comes to bury them
instead all the trees are forced to see the dead rot and decay
i wonder if the young ever feel bad? having the dead’s nutrients support them
i wonder if mary understands. she anointed jesus after he died and
i wonder if that perfume stuck to her clothes and in her hair
jesus saved her at the end of the day
can trees be guilty? xxxxx do they see young children and elders and cry about what once was?
did mary cry when she saw carpenters and small children?
oh what used to be mine
i wish i could feel everything and see everything from tree rings.
i wish i could take all the pain from ring and place it into the heart line of my hands
all the different veins in my body lined with love grief
who hears a tree fall?
no surprise if they scream or cry
ripped from stump and infront of the community who stood with you everyday
i’ve said it before- i’ve been invited to more funerals than weddings
do trees feel the same?
does mary feel the same?
how long do we hold grief in our bodies?
how long do we feel selfish?
how long does it take for a tree to rot?
and i tell everyone i love valentines day
strawberries & creme hard candy
pink whitney & constant disappointment
juniper trees are global but
i keep them close to me
cyanide like sunday spent lingering
and you call me sweetheart
but do you know my name?
do you practice pronunciation in the mirror?
did mary teach jesus how to sign his name?
are his valentines storebought or handmade?
i can’t tell anyone my hair is red in apache
and heaven knows im miserable now
sylvia and i both stuck choosing figs
how cruel to choose one and not the other
this is not a love poem
its my roundabout way of talking about grief again and again
my roundabout way of being upset with god for making mary sacrifice her only son for the world
its my roundabout way of asking if he likes me enough to learn my name
my round about way of thinkin about that cottonwood in my grandma’s yard
its my roundabout way to relate to marie and sylvia
my roundabout way of thinking about apache hearts and noticing new wrinkles new rings
but i love love and i love the love in grief and i love my abalone jingle earrings and
to be called sweetheart and my extra long nails and songs that get stuck in head and vodka with
crushed raspberries and i would blush all day if jesus gave me a valentine
this is just the ramblings of a girl
and will you peel this orange for me?
when all the figs fall- you have first pick
the start of an ode to cherries
dear [redacted],
i’ve been thinking about the iconography of cherries, in the same way i think about color schemes and how a rust sunset on the brown of laura’s skin reminds me of the painted desert of the navajo nation and
why is cherrycola both a drink and a lip combo?
and honestly i don’t like mare-uh-sheen-o cherries but i do like cherry airheads and
cherry SLUSHPUPPiES
my grandma likes to sharecherries and treats the stems as wishbones and i don’t like how cherryslang is related back to virginity because why does everything need to be sexualized?
and all i want is to lay in my cherrysheets on sunnywind days and hold
all the memories of people i love in my cherryhands
cherrymocha coffees are gross but on the wall of the cheek- who cares? nevermind
track four: suze (the cough song) by bob dylan. the part where i feel like i’m driving arlita walker around the world (the rez) and a bluebird is sitting on the gate outside of east fork
in the same way i never need any words spoken during those times and we sit in the bluehues of the word dishchii’bikoh
but cherrymocha on the wall of the cheek reminds me of a yellowhazed evening sitting with my grandparents. wet hair on my back infront of the wood stove, my grandpa would offer two queen anne cordialcherries. i always hated the first bite but the color spreads the mouth and my grandma laughs so loud and tells me’ “girl, sit still” and everytime i’d sit straight and thank queen anne for these moments tongue on the wall before bed and i fall asleep with that cherrytyingknots in my mouth
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Mark Turcotte (Turtle Mountain Band Anishinaabe) has been an active member of Chicago’s thriving poetry scene for some 30 years, and was just named as the sixth Illinois Poet Laureate. He is the author of four collections, including The Feathered Heart and Exploding Chippewas. His poetry and prose have appeared in national and international journals and magazines, and are included in the first-ever Norton Anthology of Native Nations poetry. The PoetryUnbound podcast, hosted by Pådraig Ó Tuama, recently featured his prose-poem, “Dear New Blood.” He served as 2008-09 Visiting Native Writer at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe and has since been teaching in the English Department at DePaul University, where he is Distinguished Writer-in-Residence.
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Sareya Taylor is a White Mountain Apache and Navajo poet, educator, and community worker. She earned a BFA in Creative Writing from the Institute of American Indian Arts. Taylor served as the Inaugural Youth Poet Laureate of Phoenix, Arizona and has earned fellowships with Planet Forward, In-Na-Po and the United National Indian Tribal Youth organization.
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Debra Yepa-Pappan (Jemez Pueblo, Korean) is an internationally acclaimed visual artist. Her multimedia practice, combining digital collage and photography, centers on themes about her mixed-race identity as she incorporates symbolic imagery influenced by her cultures and the urban environment where she was raised. Her artwork has been exhibited worldwide and featured in numerous publications. Yepa-Pappan is currently the director of exhibitions and programs at the Center for Native Futures (CfNF) in Chicago, a Native art space she co-founded to support Native artists. She lives in her hometown of Chicago with her husband, artist Chris Pappan, and their daughter Ji Hae Yepa-Pappan.
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