My Blood Remembers I was not born on the land you now call sacred - but my blood has ran it long before names. Before borders. Before maps. When the earth wore no fences and the wind crossed without asking. My ancestors moved with the ice, crossed the silence of the strait, from the snows of Siberia to the breath of Alaska - becoming part of the first heartbeat of what we now call America. I do not wear feathers. I do not speak the old tongue. But somewhere in me, the drum still echoes. This is not claim - this is memory. This is not ownership - this is my origin.
