Masking Tape and Markers=Beautiful Native Street Poetry

A comet flew through my soul

Not far from Black Hills Gold

Uphill from a 

Snaking

River

Did yellow hair die sinners?

Cheyenne

Cherokee

Navajo 

Pontiac

How 

The

____

Did Indian

Names 

Wind up on

Cars?

Four Sleeping 

Giants

View a Corn Palace Circus

From a cold land

As spirits roam alone

Bury my car at wounded knee

Many years ago, back when I was a wee sophomore in college, my roommate Charlotte stumbled upon this poem in the streets of San Francisco. I've had it on my computer ever since, and I love it.

This blog is filled with negative images, instances of racism and ignorance that erase our current existence--but this image is the opposite. I like to picture the busy residents of San Francisco scurrying through their everyday lives, heads down, eyes lowered, and pausing--for even a moment--to read the poem. Reading the mix of recognizable references combined with contemporary Native identity, and realizing, for one second, that Native people might live in their very city, and questioning the preconceived notions they hold.

I love the temporary nature of the project, and the anonymity. I think it lends to it's power. The poem is a fleeting moment, not meant to be permanent--guerrilla art in a rare Native form.

(Thanks Char!)