Deborah A. Miranda
Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir
12 editions
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published
2012
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Sovereign Erotics: A Collection of Two-Spirit Literature (First Peoples: New Directions in Indigenous Studies)
by
7 editions
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published
2011
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A Generous Spirit: Selected Works by Beth Brant
by
5 editions
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published
2019
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The Zen of La Llorona
5 editions
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published
2005
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Indian Cartography
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published
1999
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Bird Songs Don’t Lie: Writings from the Rez
by
5 editions
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published
2018
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Raised by Humans: Poems
2 editions
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published
2015
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Deer : Poems
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Extermination of the Joyas
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Pilgrimage (Editor's Series, #5.12)
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“Sometimes something is so badly broken you cannot recreate its original shape at all. If you try, you create a deformed, imperfect image of what you’ve lost; you will always compare what your creation looks like with what it used to look like.”
― Bad Indians
― Bad Indians
“As Cherokee writer Thomas King says, “Take it. It’s yours. Do with it what you will. But don’t say in the years to come that you would have lived your life differently if only you had heard this story. You’ve heard it now.”
― Bad Indians
― Bad Indians
“This is how it is with me:
so strong, I want to draw the egg
from your womb and nourish it in my own.
I want to mother your child made only
of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed
from any man. I want to re-fashion
the matrix of creation, make a human being
from the human love that passes between
our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle—I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.”
― The Zen of La Llorona
so strong, I want to draw the egg
from your womb and nourish it in my own.
I want to mother your child made only
of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed
from any man. I want to re-fashion
the matrix of creation, make a human being
from the human love that passes between
our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle—I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.”
― The Zen of La Llorona
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