Red my blood, green my soul.

My skin won't tell you my whole story,

my eyes are too blue to show.

The fierce red blood that flows in my veins,

the proud heritage of long ago.

Her hair was dark as was her skin,

green Oklahoma fields were her home.

I imagine her happy and free,

but I know

those reservations can only be so.

My great grandfather's hair was aflame.

His land green and vibrant and cold.

He left and made way for a new place,

and made America his home.

That young Native woman he met

stole his heart

at first sight long ago.

She told him she'd marry him,

but the only way

is if they made her teepee their home.

I have my grandfather's porcelain skin,

my grandmother's thick black hair.

Her cheekbones and her eye shape,

his freckles and light blue stare.

In my blood I have her fire,

burning red and bright.

My spirit is green like the highlands,

a distant but beautiful sight.

I'm proud to be Native American,

and my Irish roots make me whole.

Diversity in my DNA,

My blood is red, green my soul.

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-Leah H