Posted by on May 14, 2013 in Featured, News

My Destination, Running is Medicine -AnnErika White Bird

My Destination, Running is Medicine -AnnErika White Bird

I could push my body to perform from the time I was young, racing against the second hand on my mom’s count. “Watch me! Mom! Mom! Time me from here to there!” I’d take off, dirt kicking up, gravel rocks under my tennis shoes. She would count and I’d race each race against my time; I’d amaze my young self with my speed. It wasn’t until high school that I got a chance to try distance. Running was fun and my cousin and I would run from here to there, ask her mom to pick us up at the end of the route when we’d had enough. I never considered running so far. Two miles stretched on to the next town in my mind, across the world. I only went because she did, and could and wanted to run. If she can run two miles, I can too. We went out for cross country, for track. I don’t remember anyone I knew in the stands, no overbearing parent on...

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Posted by on Jun 29, 2012 in Uncategorized

Good Medicine

By: Ann-erika White Bird They left the rez, a quick wind that touched down long enough to inhale dust and crisp air. Entering FAITH, the brilliant green sign promised. She didn’t look back at the slick, black road that snaked back to the reservation’s boundary. Some relatives talk as loud as they don’t and she remembered the things unsaid most of all. She didn’t hear, “We’ve missed you,” or “It’s good to see you.” She didn’t hear, “Keep in touch.” But she heard the familiar laughter of her seven cousins after they returned from the wake. Even the two children in the group understood the jokes and stories if only in the grin of adult voices. She remembered how this was, laughing. Maybe in a people who experience so much pain, a place rises up to shake out petrified tears. They passed through downtown Faith, having to stop at the one stoplight through town. The turquoise Ford Tempo cruised through the stoplight, blinking yellow. A left turn at the...

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Posted by on May 9, 2012 in Uncategorized

At the Edge of the Road

By: Ann-erika White Bird What can I tell you? I haven’t lived in poverty like this since the last time I lived in poverty like this. That’s not entirely true, but it sounds good and it used to be true. However, I haven’t lived in proximity to extreme poverty since the last time I was actually living on minimum wage, poor. The man lying on the side of BIA 501 at the entrance of the gravel road leading to the grassless, new HUD house might be dead. The man’s face uplifted to the cloudless sky. It’s see-your-breath cold. We stop our car. Our four year old daughter asks, “Is he dead?” I hesitate. What do you say to that? The truth. “We don’t know. Daddy’s checking right now.” This leads me back to the question a friend asked me last fall. Why did you move back? My quick answer, of course, is that we moved back to the rez so I could raise the kids full-time, so they could...

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