Early evening in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. We are watching a story unfold on the television--symbols representing a tornado are heading in the direction of my sister and mother's houses. The appearance of the storm is abstract, metaphorical. Yet, real.
I am attending the 34th Annual Symposium on the American Indian in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. I've been an invited participant at other symposiums through the years. The first one I attended was as an undergrad at UNM. Yesterday I was introduced by a Northeastern State University student, Darcy Medicine Horse. His introduction was a poem. I was impressed and have included a recording in my podcast of Darcy reading his poem. Enjoy. He's of the Crow Nation.
The storm is dissipating as it moves. Strange, the sun is out and the atmosphere is dry, not moist through the storm is not far away.
The first time I ever came to Tahlequah I was a pregnant teenager on a bus with everything I owned in my Indian school footlocker. I was an Indian statistic.
This is what my horn talks about, along with other sorrows and joys of being Indian and female in these strange times.
(And mvto, Darcy and to the students, faculty and staff of the symposium.)
Harjo with green jacket and horn
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