Crying Wičhíŋčala by Lúta Keegan

Do not cry

I fall, scrape my brown skin to pink

Do not cry

Words lash out, slicing my tender spirit

Do not cry

Covers cultivating a safe world, my first heartbreak 

Do not cry 

Engrained is this normalcy

For all I want to do is just that

If I were to bear a life, these words would not exist together

Hold no weight in my mind nor in the world

For why are the bittersweet droplets shunned

Escaping, leaving, allowing

My spirit needs to cry, no longer will I neglect 

Labeled sensitive, I embrace 

Unčí told me “Tȟakóža cry, never hold the tears in, your spirit is releasing.” 

I cried to Unčí, eyes down she embraced the longful and lost 

In that gentle moment, I came back to the elder sitting across the fire

Čhuwé, Čhuwé, and Čhuwé

Standing around the everlasting table, beads scattered 

Smiles spread across their faces, I turn to them with a quivering lip

I cried to my Čhuwé’s, they gathered, smudged, tended to the vulnerability 

The stars blanketed us that night

From wičhíŋčala to wíŋyaŋ I have cried

My tears bending a river into the strands of my braid

Dripping into the land once more 

Shame I shall carry no longer

I sob philámayaye to the tears that guided, where I thought it was the end

Like a burning candle lighting the way through the beloved dark 

A familiar womb

I cry, I cry, I cry, I cry.

Lúta Keegan (she/her) is Oglála Lakȟóta from the Pine Ridge Reservation, and is a senior at Lakota Tech High School. Lúta initially discovered her passion for writing when she was a young girl, and has since been writing to express herself and her connection to her community. She can be found @cankulutawin. Cover art by Summer Jones, featured in THE VISUAL.