“Here are my experiences, my love, my teeth in my hand: how can I make you know who I am?“

We’re past the point of insisting that poetry be “beautiful,” yes? How about that it have traditional structure? Good.

Then we can still call this evocative, demanding, struggling, collection of writings by Layli Long Soldier poetry. But whether we do or not, nothing changes its invocation of truth: evocative, demanding, struggling. Many of the works here, preceding the long title poem, carry similar questions: “How can I convince you?”

Here are words in the Lakota language that have no meaning in yours. Here are your words that echo their own ironic meaningless in mine (hence the treaty language of “Whereas”). Here are my experiences, my love, my teeth in my hand: how can I make you know who I am? I offer it in both our languages, in poetry and song, in prose and sequestered phrases, in fragments and story. Across Soldier’s pages we find a poet who remains quiet when an academic expert lectures on Indian Myths and Legends. Who listens to grass. Who wonders at the evacuation of birth. Who nonetheless knows full well the work of language and of politics.

As much as any of her indigenous ancestors, Soldier’s words ring with charged poignance. Unlike them, she worries at their futility.