Native American Heritage Month--A Poem for Standing Rock and #NoDAPL

I've been so frigging mad about the news coverage of the Standing Rock protests. The media, for the most part, can't be bothered to go out and actually investigate what's actually going on. No lattes out on the prairie. So they just take the word of the lying sheriff and governor. After NPR's recently, I just blew, and my poor husband had to listen. Finally, I decided to try to tame the anger in form. So, a sestina for Standing Rock.

NO MORE (SESTINA FOR STANDING ROCK)

I have run out of time

and patience with news coverage so

lazy and biased with a bow

always to

the company owners, powerful and rich,

and to what they want said.

It never matters what my people have said

again and again. Every time

government or corporate forces, so

violent and powerful, require us to bow

in submission, and we won't, the rich

dictate what's broadcast—and written, too.

When I try to explain to

well-meaning white friends, they've said,

“But disorder!” to which I reply each time,

“But oppression!” and sow

seeds of doubt in their comfort. The bough

must break some time and dump the rich

into the mud with the rest of us. The rich

tapestry of cultures that we are can't be reduced to

only WASP—Native, Black, Latino said

to be lesser, negligible, inferior. Each time

I hear this, the fire of anger grows within, so

hot and fierce. It's time for the ruling class's farewell bow.

So long we've stayed peaceful. Soon, it may be time for bow

and lance and rifle, if the rich

can't be compelled to lift the boot, too

sure of their own power to listen to what we've said.

They don't realize it, but they're running out of time.

In arrogance, they rip the fabric of the nation we sew

back together in new, shiny shapes, so

colorful, strange, stronger, tied with the bright bow

of human dignity and rich

gleam of equality and justice. To

those who've always had power and said

to the rest of us, “Give us time

to dole out bits of freedom,” we say, “No,” so...

You've run out of time. Now, reap what you sow.

We'll no longer bow in submission to

the demands of the white and rich. Hear what we've said.

© Linda Rodriguez 2016