Some days I wake in the morning disoriented, my mind mixing up my dreamscape with the reality of what transpires in life. In my dreamscape, my arms reach for a cerulean sky, a perfect sky. This image becomes th...
But this little plot of land, where my son swings from oak branches beside the bayou . . . where we make mashed potatoes for three instead of twenty-three . . . where I call home . . . is much more than just a settler's trophy. We live in Caddo territory, or so it was before the Treaty of Cession of 1835.
For those of us who have survived war, abandonment, cancer, abuse, the loss of a loved one, or generational trauma, this litany is for us.
"We may not say it, but we whisper it in our actions: Everyone for themselves."