by Marilyn Beal-Bauer
If you call me a "squaw",
I'll spit in your face.
It's a white man's word - we both know what it means.
We are strong, We are proud.
We are intelligent and brave.
When hurt we don't cry.
Our faces become stone.
We do not lose face.
When our men turn to drink, they turn to renegade.
They blacken our eyes, but we bloody their faces.
We are educated in an uneducated way by our elder's wisdom not put down on page.
Their stories, their chants, their knowledge of plants.
They teach us, they heal us. They remain in our hearts. They never will fade as long as an Indian Warrioress remains. We remember forever.
My children, be not afraid. Your Indian warrioress is here to stay.