borrowed from the lovely kyooverse

about the title
the name of my journal is the rewording of a line from one of my own poems called "the last of" which is a requiem for the man named ishi -- who was attributed with being the last known traditionally-living ndn in the contiguous united states. he also happened to be the last person to survive the ugly genocide of his people, 90% of whom were annihilated by local california vigilantes, in about 5 months in the late 1800s.

native people are so marginalized as to be thought to not even exist, and so there's this huge mysticization of native people as this "dying race" that was epitomized with the most famous book with this title, the last of the mohicans.

however, the tragedy of ishi is that he actually was the last of his nation. and the last years of his life were spent combatting utter alienation because not a single human being in the entire world could speak his language fluently with him. [historical note: a prof from uc-berkeley actually came close towards the end, but then ishi died]

and so, as an affirmation to break glass ceilings, that can exist as walls, too (e.g. like those of a museum); i will do whatever it takes to break them, and i am not the first, nor the last, nor am i alone in my desire to do so.

the last of
(a requiem for Ishi)
by Jennifer Fox Bennett

screams cut through centuries
they coil time like yarn
into balls kittens play with

they are numbered, recorded,
filed, and labeled in a glass case
somewhere near San Francisco

thousands of years are erased
in a five-month boast
of pre-selected calibers

sadness escapes like a language
staggering, broken sentences
left jittering like bones in a cave

they rattle with his last sigh
the solitary speaker
dying behind the glass walls of a museum

no Yahi is left to shatter them