The Museum of Unnatural Histories - Annie Wenstrup

Archiving stories of dissonance and curating connection inside the imagined museum \n \nThis extraordinary debut poetry collection by Dena'ina poet Annie Wenstrup delicately parses personal history in the space of an imagined museum. Outside the museum, Ggugguyni (the Dena'ina Raven) and The Museum Curator collect discarded French fries, earrings, and secrets--or as the curator explains, together they curate moments of cataclysm. Inside the museum, their collection is displayed in installations that depict the imagined Indigenous body. Into this distance between the learning and the telling, Wenstrup inserts The Curator and her sukdu'a, her own interpretive text. At the heart of the sukdu'a is the desire to find a form that allows the speaker's story to be heard. Through love letters, received forms, and found text, the poems reclaim their right to interpret, reinvent, and even disregard artifacts of their own mythos. Meticulously refined and delicately crafted, they encourage the reader to decide/who you must become. \n \n[Sample Poem] \n \nGgugguyni in the Museum Parking Lot \n \nI watch her crow. Not as a crow crows \nbut as herself. She's not here for the art. \nShe's here for the minivans that devour \n \ndiaper bags, car seats, children. She waits \nfor the doors to retract and expel fruit, \nGoldfish, and fries. Free for the taking. \n \nShe scavenges in lurching, crab-like steps. \nLike me, she won't appear human here. \nWhile her legs bring her from one delicious \n \nscrap to another, I work my own inventory. \nOnce my parents named me Swift Raven-- \na real Indian Princess name. \n \nI flew unblinded, my hair in a blue-black \nbraid down my back. Now, I'm ungainly, \nmore harpy than girl. My mouth, a curve \n \ncalling for carrion. I'm not here for the art. \nI'm here for the mirrors, here to unpair \nearrings and unclasp foil from gum. My beak \n \nready to unbind carapace from quiver. \nLike Ggugguyni, I'm a scavenger \nlurching from one disaster to another. \n \nSee how we curate cataclysms' aftermath. \nWhile we work, Ggugguyni tells me a story. \nOnce, my grandfather said, a long time ago \n \nthere was a raven. He opened a door \nand it was day. Then he drew his wing shut. \nWhat Ggugguyni didn't say, but what I heard: once \n \nhe closed the door and it was night. Today \nI'm telling you this story instead: my mouth \nis a comma, my mouth is exclamation, \n \nmy mouth is my