for choreographer jack gray
when you dance your spirit
i feel
the earth shake,
reverberate raw beating art
a crow gathering
drumming stick
people
a suitcase birthing
golden woman
golden as the sun
you taught us to set
to song
a crow gathering
you called out:
remember the rhythm
before the rules
the bones below
stillness fills the space
even silence speaks
but learn the language
already inside you
a crow gathering
your bird-eye darting
seeking perfection
of imperfection
faith in fragments
make, remake, break
free of the nest
live!
this thing we call process
a crow gathering
always in motion
taking flight
as promised
but still,
where is the song
to call the sun
to rise?
all the yarn yearning
for you
forgetting
that once without you
we felt whole
Patricia Spottedcrow, enrolled with the Cheyenne and Arapaho Nation and of African American ancestry, is the mother of four young children. In 2009, Spottedcrow lost her job as a certified medical assistant in a nursing home and shortly thereafter was arrested for her first criminal offense: selling $31 of marijuana to an undercover informant. An Oklahoma woman judge sentenced Spottedcrow to twelve years in prison. Spottedcrow was incarcerated in Taft, Oklahoma in the Dr. Eddie Warrior Correctional Center, which is the site for the former Indian Mission School: Haloche Industrial Institute. While Spottedcrow’s children were permitted to visit her while she was incarcerated, trips to the facility were onerous for the low-income family. In part because of public outcry for the unjust length of her sentence, after two years Spottedcrow was released from prison.
This is a crow’s cartography,
a murmur for the murder.
A new genocide coded with cages,
but the bond was set 500 years before.
You want to teach us a lesson: do not
involve children in crime.
Yet who taught children cruelty?
Grew small bodies in Haloche,
imprisoned warriors, tortured tongues,
evidence inescapable: are we not speaking to you
in English?
We held to our breasts infants, nursed elders.
Brown bodies still care
for white ones.
Our milk has always been thicker than blood,
but yours is a race
that we cannot win, the shortest distance
between life and land measured
as the crow cries.