A Thimble-Full of Native American Blood

I don’t need a DNA test to tell me who my mother is; I know who she was. –A.D.

I tell you that what you know is wrong;

we are not natives, we are whites

more British than the British, in fact

I tell you that your mother

registered white on the census;

she was never half Indian

I tell you that the memories of her chewing

a black gum tree twig, dancing

in circles with my father, laughing

while fry bread sizzles

in an iron skillet

are just country

supporting this identity

is the marriage record saying

                          Colored

It never occurs to me to consider

race was a perception

not an identity

and perception lies

It never occurs to me

that one culture

can completely erase

another

Yet there it is on paper:

              colored = powerless, vulnerable

                           White = Entitled To Own

There it is on paper:

my native antecedents slipping

off their indian skins, a thin layer

of vanilla ice cream melting

from their chins

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Rebecca Whitman

Rebecca J. Whitman is a author and small indie publisher in eastern North Carolina with over 160 published poems and articles. She writes weekly to an international audience, and her blog is read in over 40 countries. When she is not busy on other writing and web design projects, Rebecca loves to travel and capture stories for local newspapers and her blog. She enjoys retail therapy and going out to eat with friends as well as quality time at home with family. Rebecca is also proud to volunteer some of her time weekly to a non-profit addressing homelessness in her area. Rebecca holds multiple degrees including a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina at Wilmington and a Masters in English, Technical and Professional Communication from East Carolina University.

Latest posts by Rebecca Whitman (see all)

• Wintry Morn - 15th January 2023
• A Thimble-Full of Native American Blood - 7th October 2020