I find you in very common places. I see you around nowhere special. Sometimes it’s while I’m in-between, while I’m just passing by. Sometimes you are a blur to me. We cross paths as I’m coming home from a space where we think, talk and pray about ones like you.
For my past, present, future and nothing more or no one else I battle the war within of dysfunctional beauty and hopeful wounds the things people have told me the things I’ve hidden inside of me I cry out loud praying for a break in the cycle I laugh out
There’s an Inupiaq word that describes the moment when you suddenly, for the first time, recognize that you are a part of this world. In English, it’s simply called your earliest memory. But in my language, it’s a monumental experience. It’s a stakeholder in your past. It is an awareness
Spoken word, written summer 2017 What it means to be Native has evolved I’m rehabilitative you will recall being so derogative I have dissolved your control your authorities your goal and your priorities Within the stitches that you sew into the front pocket of a pattern you borrowed comes the
my daddy, Harold Lambert my earliest memories of my dad in his natural habitat: cooking in carhartts at camp LRT also has a pretty legendary softball team. One time my dad called me when the song Sail by Awolnation came on the radio to play it over the phone and
After a long summer of constant daylight, the streetlights of Kotzebue have recently begun turning back on. The purple fireweed plants across town are almost in full bloom, signaling that summer is coming to an end. The back-to-school sales are now on the shelves and scholarship application deadlines are arriving.