Spoonful of Navajo
“Together we sit perched over the square of light, virgin mouths struggling to swallow old vowels now forced foreign, our throats snapping awkwardly over their branches but singing our way home all the same…”
Editor's Choice - Poetry
Poetry
Lost in My Head
“I am crying on the floor amongst my trash and scattered clothes. Pleading for my ancestors to help me…”
(I Am) Her Glittering Existence
Turquoise, Not Diamonds
by Kiana Woody of Tohono
O‘odham Community College
I am from the empty canyon walls underneath and hidden I am from the place where white corn breathes prayer into the morning dawn I am from the place where yellow corn cascades pollen into the evening twilight I am …
hūzíwí
hūzíwí waking, spiky ivory scarlet legs emerging under silky deep burrow ancient nightmare web hūzíwí arms rumbling, lava blood summoning as veins bulge dripping molten dread while finger bark rots fish bone and plastic hen hūzíwí chest broadening, …
Ogimaag Mitigoog*
Placid Dusk by Jenae Miller
of Fond du Lac Tribal and
Community College
Height infused by your majesty Skin rough but breakable or smooth like marble baby Arms stretched out for sun or bent to the earth carefree Tiny leaves for fingers full of veins and light grasp the rays Make them …
the witch
ho’ok lived here stitching fire into skin phoenix was a sunlit city, she wanted to spit at it every time the sun kissed her ho’ok worked at social services on the rez drove on clay colored freeways as dawn broke …
Saturday Night Mania
It’s Saturday night in the psych ward, half past witching hour, lights switched off to phantom black. The psych ward becomes a cityscape, a night skyline in a sterile hospital. When I turn the power on, the corridors brighten, a …
The TCJ Student Virtual Poetry Slam
TCJ Student partnered with Thunder inDIGIfest for the 2021 AIHEC poetry slam. Held virtually over Zoom, the slam was an experiment in the making.
Her Hands
Sheep by Talhela Daw of Dine College.
Her hands are smooth and rough,
like rusted metal in the rain.
Her heart is soft, like blue corn mush
on a Saturday morning.
a field of insect-i-cides
“beneath umbrellas of drooping purple petals, sticks with triangular heads hold curved handles, thin membranes stretch for tiny legs to back—stroke . . .”