Each year in November, we observe National Native American Heritage Month to shine a spotlight on the incredible histories, invaluable contributions, and enduring traditions of Native Americans and Indigenous peoples that have left an indelible mark on our nation. The NEA recognizes and honors the rich and ever-evolving expressive arts and cultures of Native and Indigenous communities and to continue the celebration, below are poems by Native and Indigenous writers. Click on the poem’s title to read the full text.

“Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world. / Then we took it for granted. / Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind. / Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.”
From “Once the World Was Perfect” by Joy Harjo (Muscogee/Creek), 1977 and 1992 NEA Literature Fellow, NEA Big Read author, and 23rd U.S. Poet Laureate

“The wagon and mule, Time and Eternity, stop to change places. / Their lean and slope-back shadow, my reservation. / The moon moves like infested flour.”
From “Jagged Winter Trail Designs” by Sy Hoahwah (Yapaituka Comanche and Southern Arapaho), 2013 NEA Literature Fellow

“All that was left were the spring time faces of mountains, gazing down, / their last patches of snow, luminous. / I dreamed of becoming snow melt, gliding down the slope and in to the valley. / With the promise, an assurance, that there is always a way to become bird, tree, water again.”
From “Heart Butte, Montana” by M.L. Smoker (Sioux and Assiniboine)

“Remember, when you step into the arena of your life, / think about those who stand beside you, next to, and with you. / Your ancestors are always in your corner, along with your people.”
From “Being” by Tanaya Winder (Duckwater Shoshone)

“It’s not humankind after all nor is it culture that limits us. / It is the vastness we do not enter. / It is the stars we do not let own us.”
From “Culture and the Universe” by Simon J. Ortiz (Acoma Pueblo), 1970 and 1982 NEA Literature Fellow

The t(rain) again this morning, sky always gray, / grain cars f(lying) like blackbirds with fieldseed in their bellies. // The eight o five carrying g(rain) sings like tribes when they migrated north in summer across the plains following tracks of herds.”
From “The Eight O Five” by Diane Glancy (Cherokee), 1990 and 2003 NEA Literature Fellow