(What advice do you have for minority writers who are fighting to be heard or who are struggling for legitimacy in American literature?) Remember tha… - Joy Harjo

"My path is made of poetry and music, characterized by rowdiness and sunflowers, and given life by everyone I have met along the way in this process of becoming human. (When I say "everyone," I don't mean just us ornery two-legged beings.)"

I find the white enamel pan she used for bread and biscuits. It is the same pan she used to bathe us when we were babies. I turn the faucet on and hold my hand under the water until it is warm, the temperature one uses to wash an infant. I find a clean washcloth in a stack of washcloths. She had nothing in her childhood. She made sure she had plenty of everything when she grew up and made her own life. Her closets were full of pretty dresses, so many she had not time to wear them all. They were bought by the young girl who wore the same flour sack dress to school every day, the one she had to wash out every night, and hang up to dry near the wood stove.

Poet Warrior gave birth to two children
And acquired more children along the way
Through association, marriage, and love.
There were more and more story bringers
In her world.
They became her fiercest teachers
Of how there is no end to love
And of how it plants itself
Deeper than earth
Or sky.