by Duane L Herrmann

My skin is “white,”
but that’s a lie.
I’m not as “white”
as I look, that’s just
a disguise I did not decide.
Our tribe is Miami,
with no documentation,
so we’re not sure,
but it makes most sense – 
she was born in that land
as tribe was expelled.
But there was no pride,
so we let it hide.
One thirty-second of me,
a toenail or more,
is Native true,
but the rest, I admit,
were invaders, that’s who.