Culture For Sale Poem by Laura Kiernan

Culture For Sale

Rating: 1.6


I went to my friend's house for supper
And her mother cooked roasted chicken with herbs
And fried potatoes with spices
And crisp green beans wrapped in bacon and sprinkled with brown sugar
And everything glistened with butter
I know she tried extra hard because of me
Since I was the guest
So I guess that old story of Southern Hospitality isn't just a rumor
Because she also serves iced tea before I've even said that yes, I'd love a glass

And her father laughed when I laughed
Because he knew I didn't know the potatoes were that spicy
And he thought my tattoos were really interesting
And didn't think I'd be the kind of girl to have ink
But I am and I love tattoos
And I want some more
There is one tattoo I have which is a bear
With a jagged arrow running through it
And it's a Native American symbol
And it lives on my left shoulder

And her father comes up to me and tells me to come with him
He has something to show me that he knows I'll like
On his wall he has a big drum hanging up
And it's an Indian one
He tells me he bought it when he was in South Dakota
And he mistakes me for Sioux
And I tell him I am Navajo
So he shows me a pair of boots he bought for my friend
While he was in Arizona
I admire his ability to find the Indians wherever he goes
But I have to wonder about his artifacts

I smile and nod and tell him a bit about the Navajo
Some things he may not have learned on his four-day loop tour
Or on the skywalk over the Grand Canyon
But I can't help wondering about the authenticity
Did he buy this from a tiny old woman
Who makes the boots in her wooden house
Falling apart in the corners
Water damage in the ceiling?
Or did he buy this in a Buffalo Bill Trading Post
Where you can buy culture for less than the price of a tank of gas?

Is it really culture when you can buy it on eBay?
Or are we all so desperate to stay alive
And to keep from fading away
That we'll sell our souls and our heritage
For $30 or your best offer?
Is it just about doing anything we can do to be remembered?
So that we won't end up the way Sherman Alexie predicts
When the Great American Indian Novel is finally written -
'All the white people will be Indians
And all the Indians will be ghosts'?

Or are we ghosts already?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Roger Cornish 19 February 2008

There's such sorrow in this...... The price we pay........ Roger

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