The Weight is not Mine: It's OURS

Cinnamon Brown Skin
Of a land I call home
Claimed
By savagery of Spanish conquests not long ago.
Then overtaken by my European ancestors
Trampled on by their contadini shoes
Air tainted with their meridionali accents.
Roman Catholic tongues denouncing Peyotist praises
While you, my tan Brothers and Sisters
Looked on bearing the cross
Making the way to your Native Calvary
To crucify your ways
And accept ours that deserved execution before Ellis’ birth.
I – indigent
On indigenous terrain
Rain, wash away my guilt,
My shame
My history
My whiteness