Take a breath offered by friendly winds.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies.

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
Open the door, then close it behind you.
A Southerner soon as a Northerner,
I was of three minds, like a tree in which there are three blackbirds.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.
You may trod me in the very dirt,
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame.
I resist any thing better than my own diversity.
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Harjo, Joy. For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet. Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings, W. W. Norton & Company, 2015.

Stevens, Wallace. Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens, Alfred A. Knopf, 1954.

Whitman, Walt. Song of Myself, Section 16. Leaves of Grass, 1892. Edited by David S. Reynolds, Oxford University Press, 2005.