Native American poetry teaches about culture, values, connection, and spirituality. This specific post analyzes Native American poems and how they approach the topic of spirituality and what it means to them. Bedagi also known as Big Thunder’s unnamed poem quotes: “The Great Spirit is in all things: He is in the air we breathe. The Great Spirit is our father, but the Earth is our Mother. She nourishes us; that which we put into the ground she returns to us.” This poem reveals the humility of Big Thunder and how he believes people ought to take care of Earth. He explains how people are to appreciate what the Earth provides, through a paternal and maternal lens. Dave Chief, the grandfather of Red Dog, quotes: “Respect means listening until everyone has been heard and understood, only then is there a possibility of balance and harmony, the goal of Indian spirituality.” This poetic claim teaches how to accomplish balance and harmony, which are core goals of spirituality.

Abigail and John Adams were both exquisite writers and impactful leaders in Early America. They wrote back and forth often, both looking to each other for support and advice. Abigail Adams has a greater influence over the structure of the nation than one may think. In fact, she often included early ideas about the expansion of women’s rights and expanding education to a greater degree. In one of her letters to John while he was at the Constitutional Convention, she explained: ““If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation.” To quantify, There are more than 1,160 letters between the two of them, all preserved in the Adams Family Papers of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Their letters display two major themes. Firstly they include many historical events from their own perspectives, such as Washington’s inauguration.

The day has been too long. What day is it even? I have lost track of the days. Has it

been weeks or days? Sitting on the cold, hard floor by the metal bed, I let my heavy eyes take a break from the white lighting and stale environment. The salty tear dripping warmly down my cheek is all I feel, as the rest of my body is numb. The only exception is my brain. Beep. Beep. Beep. I am used to the hum of the medical machines now, considering how long I have been here.

As I beg my mind’s eye to take me back to my youth, the salty tears continue to drip one by one. I see my mother. My beautiful, vibrant mother. My healthy mother. My mom.

“I will always take care of you,” I hear her say to a stand-offish thirteen year old me who took her kiss on the cheek for granted. Oh I wish I could change my reaction now, but it is too late.