Teaching Poetry: Invisible Indian

It seems only fitting that I would teach poetry more intensely to my students during National Poetry Month. We read and discussed this poem today. Ninety per cent of my students are Native American. They understood the poem, but were surprised that somebody thought the woman was Hispanic. They live among their people on the reservation where I teach. Indians know Indians. The last verse was the one that struck all of us. We wondered what "the turquoise in my heart" meant.

Invisible Indian

A few weeks ago

the cashier at the grocery store,

seeing my dark hair

and dark eyes,

counted my change

back to me in Spanish

Three days later

the waitress at the pizza place

made the same mistake.

Happens all the time

since I moved to Miami.

As though without buckskin, braids and beads

I don’t exist.

At a pow-wow last Sunday

I spoke to a Cherokee

wearing faded black jeans and a tee shirt

standing beside a display of stone sculptures

I told him I admired his work.

He didn’t mistake me for Hispanic

But saw that I was Indian

and even guessed my tribe.

Other Indians always recognize me.

Maybe they hear the echoes of the drums

In the rhythms of my voice.

Glimpses the shadows of my Indian grandmother

In the chiseled cheekbones of my face,

Or see the turquoise in my heart.

-Deloras (Dee) Lane