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Zoe Callan

Sonnet 10: Ekphrastic

The girls push each other in the wagon,
fast. Giggling and laughing. The one pushing
lets go, the other shot like a cannon
to barrel down the street, delight gushing

they switch and go again. The boy barely
born will someday leave soccer behind. Like
his sister did, his sister played rarely
preferring to play in the mud than strike

the ball that now lays forgotten. Would they
all play in the wagon again one day?
Once upon a time, the kids used to play
together, undivided by age. They

wonder, now older, if that old rusted
red wagon, will still pull them as trusted.

Free Verse 16: I am Called Me

My friends call me Sharp Cheddar;
For a sharp wit that always seems to leave me.

My friends call me Responsible [or adult].
When did that happen?
With no “tragic backstory” per say…
When did my childhood fall away?

My friends call me Smart.
But when scores and grades aren’t in question?
Why can’t I make a decision?

My friends call me a Geek.
A proud D&D player and Dungeon Master,
Give me dice or give me a pen.

I call myself Hiding.
From what? I do not know.

I call myself Broken,
From traumas I barely remember,
They don’t seem that bad in retrospect and comparison.

I call myself a Liar.
Where is this pain coming from?

I call myself a Writer.
I live in my stories.

But I have learned more from 
What they call me.

I have learned that 
Pain Is Not a Competition.
I have learned that 
It’s Ok To Not Be Ok.

But even though 
I have no reason not to,
And even though
I try.

I still haven’t learned to 
Love Myself.

At least not fully,
At least not Yet.

Sonnet 8: La Bizaad de Shijéídíshjool

I write poems in english, not because
I care if you understand them, I don’t.
My poems are not written for applause,
My poems are written for me. I won’t

Write them in english forever, only
Until my traitorous tongue learns to form
Around Diné Bizaad, I’m learning slowly
But surely. But for now, this is my norm.

One day I will write my poems in Diné,
Or Spanish, or perform in ASL.
I will be quadrilingual someday,
And then, each language in my heart will dwell.

Then I can spout as much dóola bichąąʼ
As I please, and no one will know chąąʼ.

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Zoe Sloan Callan is, as of Fall 2020, a Senior at the Native American Community Academy. She is the reigning NACA and New Mexico State Poetry Out Loud Champion. She also writes her own poetry and short stories, and is currently working on the first draft of her first novel. Callan is Navajo, Irish, Italian, and English among other things. She loves to tell stories, read, write, play D&D, cook, craft, and make art. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico with her parents, two younger siblings, and dog. She is a member of the Caseus Household, known as Sharp Cheddar.

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Jesus Gonzalez

At the Park

At the park, I sit and think and do homework,

it’s loud with cars passing

which I find calming 

Brings me back 

when I get lost in thoughts that come and go,

I sit on the grass and stare at the sky 

watching the clouds change colors 

from pink and blue, 

blurring into the sky  

The day turns into night and the city,

in the middle of the desert 

turns into a city of lights

Identity

Within my community of New Mexico,
I identify with the rides down Central Avenue on Sunday 
beautiful murals all over the city 
amazing sunsets

I also identify with the hikes up the mountains
seeing the Pueblos 
the powwows.

Within my community of New Mexico,
I don’t identify with judging homeless people
who we see down Central on any given night 
knowing that the bottles of alcohol and the needles 
from addicts on the sidewalk tell stories of people 
who are in the hardest battle down the road of Central. 

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Jesus Gonzalez is a Senior at the Native American Community Academy. He is Native American and is part of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of Oklahoma. Gonzalez practices his traditional ceremonies and is also a pretty cool guy who has a dog, is a sibling to an older brother and sister, and one younger sister.  

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Esperanza Alirez-Pacheco

Colors Change

As the sun begins to set 

I sit and watch the colors change in the sky. 

And wonder where the time went. 

The colors change from blue to orange

to red and then in a few, little seconds, it’s dark. 

During those last moments of lights

I spend thinking of how beautiful the sky is.

The sunset is the one time where the world freezes.

Thoughts  flow through my mind like a waterfall. 

Thinking of you and where you might be 

in the sky knowing you’re always by my side. 

The many clouds circle around me and make me 

feel free and safe. 

The sunset is the one time

where I can be free 

minded.

You

Sad is a word that can’t be described 
It is hurt and heartbreak. 
It is dark lonely nights 
staring at the dark blue sky. 
Time stays still but never stops
Crying in silence for no one to hear. 
Hard to get over the pain and loss.
Memories that flow through my mind 
reminding me of you. 
Pictures on the wall of you 
bring back tears and the loss. 
Time slows down when I think of you 
heartbreak and hurt comes around again. 
The dark blue night and silent rolls around again. 
Time slows down till it stops. 
The night blue sky suddenly turns to black 
with no one around to see. My tears seem to fade away. 
The tears fade because there’s no more left. 
Missing you is hurt and heartbreak over 
and over and over again. 
No one here listens to my pain and sadness. 
Only you.

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Esperanza Alirez-Pacheco is a Senior at Native American Community Academy. She loves to write poetry. Esperanza identifies as Hispanic and was born and raised in Albuquerque. She has three dogs, one turkey and a ton of chickens. She loves to cook and spend time with her family. Esperanza works everyday and is a manager at her job. She has an older brother and two younger sisters. She is very outgoing and dorky at the same time, but can also sometimes be shy when meeting new people. 

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Brianna S. Fast Horse

Modern Day Martyr

The dying light, 
familiar and eye burning,
as if academic pursuit belonged
to anyone less than the ambitious
and Fool-hardy.

Blurred time, 
analog dyed eyes reading Apate
as the God of Truth to feign that the night
did not steal my youth,

nor that I handed away 
sanity and humanity
to become a
frostbitten voyage to 
arctic logic known as
moon-landed school teaching,
as far and alien between
culture and youth.

For bullets decorate high school lockers
that spell out one part genocide,
two parts slavery –
As if alcohol plagued streets and
rotted veins 
weren’t filled with enough shots.

Name Poem

Nothing. For what it means to me is a broken Father, deadbeat Mother. If I inherit nothing, then that’s my name. In another language, Brianna is null. Fasthorse makes me cattle. Bearstops makes me a threat. Brianna . A common bullshit, oh it means strength! name that any white cracker uses to be a more spicy vanilla. While I am the cherry caramel covered in a rain of bullets. I am named savage to be killed in order to save the man.

Bri. Bean dip. Mom. I am nothing to be made into everything that they most want – I am an anti-matter clay. I will be your savior – your friend – An ear to spout your bloody truths & darkest fears for I have no mouth to spout them back.

My parents chose my name to be the strength they needed to keep living but what happens when that thing to keep you alive is bleeding? For I am ashened bloodied broken bones and whispered bruised busted lips.

My name makes the strength needed to keep my bones alive. Sara is just the Lee less made to be a person but to be a cook as the noodles on the stove catches fire by the alcohol water that replaced water – Rez watering holes also known as pubs.

The seed of doubt watered by soulless eyes & dreary nights – May the snakes take me for that is what I am – Lizard/Snake-like-Sioux to be sued for barely looking – Lakes may drown me first before the hook hooks me – hooking all naive drunk – high brown girls to inseminate-

I am Fasthorse- Running from the machine guns gunning us down. My name should be blood for it is what I am – I want to be named corpse.

Horse Broken In, Horse Broken Sky

Horse broken in, Horse broken sky
Blue eyes, blue lies, blue lies
Green grass don’t grow, when
Broken ascent by Horse bloodied bodies who broke the sky
Itching fingers to a drum,
Itching fingers to a gun – 
Rubber can still harm when it’s a gun 
that can fire at 15,000 feet a second; 
Blue eyes swollen sockets
Now our elders are blind
And you tell us to be kind?

Be like the rest of your kin and whitewash your sin-
I don’t need to rhyme to get under your skin.
I do it to win.

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Brianna S. Fast Horse is a Lakota Senior at the Native American Community Academy. Brianna is an aspiring Clinical Therapist, long time writer, lover of cats, snakes and owls, The Stealer of Pens (Trademark), a tired nerd who stays up even longer to read more nerd things, and has too many notebooks for an 18 year-old to have. They identify as Non-Binary. Brianna is from New Mexico and raised in South Dakota as a Northerner before being returned to their Southern roots. 

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Asia Tafoya

I Identify. I Don’t Identify.

I identify with traditions. 
I identify with supporting Natives.
I identify with strong women. 
I identify with saving our Indigenous women.
I identify with the kindness in my grandma’s heart.
I identify with my mother’s strong voice and my father’s wisdom. 
I identify with my grandfather’s leadership.

I don’t identify with people who bring down others. 
I don’t identify with the rudeness of some people’s hearts. 
I don’t identify with saying, I can’t do this.
I don’t identify with, my dreams will never come true.
I don’t identify with people not believing in themselves.  
I don’t identify with kids making bad choices is a cool thing.  
I don’t identify with myself being shy.

I identify with traditions. 
I identify with supporting Natives.
I identify with strong women. 
I identify with saving our Indigenous women.
I identify with the kindness in my grandma’s heart.
I identify with my mother’s strong voice and my father’s wisdom. 
I identify with my grandfather’s leadership.

The Moment

The most exciting moment of our friendship. 
Halloween night.
Her mom who’s like a mother to me 
driving to make her daughter have a great night,
planning our costumes the minute before walking out the door.
We had no idea what to call this. All we knew is, 
We will never forget this night. 
The trouble of drawing triangles on our faces
for who knows what

The laughter on her mother’s face brings me warmth 
Her little sisters jumping in excitement 
pictures being taken all around at all the right times 
Smiles all over 
Now why is it that I love Halloween?
Because of this picture. 
Because of this.

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Asia Tafoya is a Junior at Native American Community Academy. She is 16 years-old from Santa Clara Pueblo, Comanche Tribe and the Hopi Tribe. She is the middle child out of five kids. She loves to be with her siblings. Asia spends most days writing and loves to read.

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Diego Maho

The Horse Beneath the Veil

He sees all, he hears all, he’s a watcher of the outside. 
Only visible when the sun shines. 
When does the sun shine? When the youngest tries to die?
When the oldest leaves? Or when the mother is hospitalized?
He sits on the shelf, watching the color fade from within.

He watches it all go down, one by one they all leave the asylum.
One by one, they all lose their sanity.
From light blue and red, to darkness in the clouds. 
Raindrops fall one at a time, as does the smoke in the sky. 
One dime falls in, one hundred dollars falls out. 

Some have got to wonder what he is. 
Is he a guardian angel? Or is he a guardian devil?
Is he to blame? Or is he nearly a bystander in the way?
Does he know what’s going to happen next? 
Or is he just as lost as the rest?

Bipolar heartache and sonic screams. 
When the time glass shatters, we all are in Its wake. 
Will he stay? Or will he leave?
Blood splatters the walls, from what was once a haven in disguise. 
Now nothing but the horse beneath the veil, trapped in ice.

Identity

I identify with the cracks on the wall, separated, yet connected.
The stray animals that run across the yard, or the butterflies that fly past my face.
The blind brown kids that play at the drug den park, unaware and unfazed. 
The ink that gets used to tell a story, the books that are used to start a fire.
I identify with the cool breeze that flies across the air, free and mobile.

I don’t identify with the pain and suffering caused by the white supremacist. 
The killings and drive-bys, from our own community. 
Why would you kill that innocent kid?
The cultural probation promoted by ignorant white folk. 
The destruction of families and culture. 

Why can’t you just leave us the fuck alone?
I don’t identify with the phrases, Go back to your land!

This is our land, asshole!

Land of the Free

America, the free. 
A country founded by immigrants and minorities. 
Still imprisoned, still broken, still fighting. 
Fighting for the right to feel, to love, to live! 
Fighting for our right to be free!
Fighting for our land and ancestors!

Broken bones and lucid tears. 
Frightening words, frightening worlds. 
Blood quantum, blood loss. 
Blood on the street, blood in our houses, blood on our hands. 
Blood spilt, over popularity and negativity.

Pointless wars, pointless fights. 
Encaged and enslaved, truly the land of the free. 
Only for the rich and white, nothing for the heart and hardworking. 
Nothing for the lost, everything for the lust. 
Ruled by lies and honored for a slaughter.

The wall surrounded by invaders, settlers. 
The same that stole our land and our people, 
the same ruling this country.

We were the first, now the last, always forgotten. 
Always afraid. Afraid of leaving the house without being shot. 
Afraid of the land of the free.

Stitched Lips

Bit my tongue, stitched at the lip.
I said too much. I fought too much.
I said the wrong thing too much.
I got tough news so much.

I can’t say too much, or else,
I’ll have to pay in broken bones
And bloodied knuckles.
Bitten at the tongue, now antisocial.

Delinquents and principles.
Nothing but chains around “criminals”.
Concrete mouths, hidden opinions, hidden reasons.
Broken to the bone, just to gain some gold.

They lie, they steal, they kill. We’re just “hostile”.
They try to keep us silent, just to have us riot.
They hide behind walls and attack us with laws.
They throw us into cells, try to get us to fall.

Sometimes saying nothing,
Is more dangerous than doing something.
We’re the fire drill, they’re the fire.
Stitched lips kill.

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Diego Maho is, at the time of writing, a Senior at Native American Community Academy, and is an aspiring and passionate photographer and writer of fiction and poetry. He is Tewa-Hopi, Menominee, Mexican, and a horror movie lover.

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Asia Bradley

Buckskin

I see the bright colors 
of our buckskin dress 
our bright shiny beads 
reflecting off of the sunlight
I see very tall trees 
clouds up in the sky 
giving us light guiding 
our way to a better future
at this time 
we are 
becoming women
at this time 
we show those 
that we are strong 
with hope and prayers

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Asia Bradley is a Junior  who attends school at the Native American Community Academy.  She was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico and she is 17 years old. Her tribes are Mescalero Apache and affiliated tribes of  ND. She loves to spend most of her time playing basketball, as well as with family and friends. She is the oldest daughter of her family and is a military child.

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Adrianna Salas-Saavedra

Candle

I see happiness
I feel happiness 
as my candles burn over 
the melted wax, the light scent 
fills my universe with a happy smell

I can 
smell the flame 
of the candle 
and I can watch it dance, 
watching
my candles burn 
makes me forget 
the negative

It calms my soul 
as if it it’s my happy place, 
two candles, a symbol 
of peace and calm 
white candles can make 
my room light up 
as it burns 
takes away my sadness 
in the wax red candles 
to take away the bad 
scent of stress and frustration,

my candles have no time to burn, 
they can be on all day,
wouldn’t melt to the bottom, 
days can go by

they’re still lit 
which makes me 
believe that my candles 
are my guardian of keeping 
my positivity going 

Love

Air of the presence just as a rose with thorns
in your presence I can feel the energy that you’re 
surrounded by as it attracts me like a magnet. 
The way I look at you makes me crazy 
because I’m attracted to everything about you 
crave your presence when you leave.

Red 
as in 
the roses 
that you give 
me

out 
of 
nowhere

makes me blossom like a growing seed.

White as the bright lights that shine 
on your honey skin makes you stand 
out more than you already do.

You are my happy place,  
you’re my bright neon yellow 
that lightens up my day with the sun,
makes me energetic.

In your presence time doesn’t 
exist when I’m around you, 
it can feel like minutes but it’s 
been 
hours.

I constantly think about you and the seconds 
of happiness we have when we are not around 
each other. Time flies just like a bird that has 
nowhere to go but every second we have 
I will cherish forever. It all sounds so soft like piano
keys singing a tune of your voice on the phone 
when we talk for hours. The passion and affection 
of your feelings makes me so happy as I think 
about it all the time. You make me smile

out of the blue when I think about your voice 
in my head and I have it on repeat like a song. 
Your laughter and giggles fill the air like a harmony
that I can listen to all the time. The time, patience 
and energy bounces off us like shields protecting 
our feelings and attraction

for each other.

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Adrianna Salas-Saavedra is a 16 year-old Junior at Native American Community Academy. She is Hispanic and Native American from Laguna Pueblo. She is also from Albuquerque, New Mexico but has a home in Veguita. Adrianna wants to be a nurse with babies or children in the future. She has played varsity volleyball since 8th grade and was in student council her sophomore year. She likes coffee with peppermint creamer and sugar, as well as green tea. Her favorite Mexican singer is Remmy Valenzuela.

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