This poem by Harjo is called A Refuge in the Smallest of Places, and she dedicates it to Emily Dickinson, one of the singers, and also to all of those fleeing on those ancient migration trails north for home. Someone sang for me and no one else could hear it. When I had given up and made knife marks on my arm, or drank and gave myself away, or was given someone sang for me and no one else could hear it

Do you comfort yourself with poems? Which ones?

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