My Heart Is Native
A
Adeline Foster
0
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An Indian maid with long plaited hair
Indian tunes crooning through the air
Could not I be she?
My heart is native.
A bare-foot black girl on coral sand
Holding a conk shell in burnished hand
Could not I be she?
My heart is native.
A snow-block home by an open flame
An Inuit child with an Inuit name
Could not I be she?
My heart is native.
Under the skin are we not the same
Just being people no matter the name
Could not that be we
When hearts are native?
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