Bundle your shirts in deerskin,
take them to the edge of the ocean,<span
and throw them into the water,
for your selfishness and unacceptable grievances with death.

Stop trying to run and perform for white women who truly do not see you,
they think you are less threatening because you can blend in with them,
but they do not know about the talons you hide in your shoes,
to gut their orifices of complicity—

they held the gun against your peoples’ head just as much as any white man,
their fingerprints are just harder to trace.

Bury your magic under tree roots,
and do not dig them up for seven generations,
let them ferment with untouched hands.

Your grandfather would have warned you about this,
if he had not died long before you were born.

Trust in him,
death has made powerful ghosts for you to talk to.

By Moira J


Moira J., or Gaagé Dat’éhe (Quiet Crow), is a mix’d Indigenous writer who explores the messy world of being agender, queer, and biracial. They explore sexuality, spirituality, trauma, displacement, and kinships in poetry, origin stories, and creative nonfiction. They have their Master’s degree in Mental Health Counseling. They currently live and write in Oregon with the support of their spouse, and the family pet: Dana Scully. Moira J’s work has been featured in Girls Get Busy zine, i-D Magazine, Toe Good Poetry, Naugatuck River Review, Bayou Magazine, and more. They have upcoming publications with Sea Foam Magazine and The Account.  You stay updated on Moira J. by going to, or on Twitter @moira__j.

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