It seems as if it would be better simply to type out the whole poem rather than make an attempt at commentary on this entry. Poetry is concise; it is the analysis that can take pages and pages, over long periods of contemplation and consideration. Perhaps even wonder.
In "I Walk in the History of My People," Chrystos writes about pain.
The pain that divides the privileged from the suffering, the whole from the broken. Her words are concise, precise. A litany of anger that has been passed through generations of abuse and neglect. If to become uncomfortable is to become closer to radicalization, then Chrystos' poem is a firm push.
And yet, she demonstrates the utility of anger. It is anger that holds the narrator of the poem upright, despite the injuries, the wounds, the suffering. "How I Am Still Walking"