are fully substantiated. He is red and well built and
possesses a strikingly characteristic face,
like a fox.
Grandfather, great-grandfather,
with ears like that—
Did they f[h]ear you?
Boy, bear, bird? Shark? Fox? I can see something wild – Michael
– a body
poised to run. The only natural thing – is defiant
forward or back? – under scrutiny. What’s behind your back? What
was in you(r) hands?feathers, fur or teeth? – how soft the deer
mouth, low the ground wherein a grave meets the second born
how did we come hereMichaelwhere (do) we go?
Did your mouth grow soft with age Michael could you still chew
the kiimak – the little bones Can you hear them breaking down – You can’t
spit a fish in the water and expect it still
to swim—
I am afraid to put my face under
water afraid of filling these lungs
until the strain on my line
pulls me under
mouth open
What’s behind you(r back)?
OBSERVE THE INDIAN AS SUBJECT.
Another described the legacy as a blank space. A space that unlike a slate can not be written. A moth-eaten hole.
Native scholarsi call it a soul wound, but my book isn’t clear if these are Native American men (and women) who have become scholars, or white men with pipes and elbow patches who study Natives from armchairs. I used to adore them, the stories they’d tell. Did you ever feel such wind again, or did it move right through you? Was your coat already full of holes before you took your first step east?
i a wound is a wound is a mouth is a wound
I was trying to remember how to make salmon cakes for my parents.
I was trying to find other ways to make salmon, because I didn’t have the
right ingredients. I didn’t have access to the foods listed
in my Unangax cookbook. I didn’t know how to use the fish
in the traditional way—I didn’t think you could
throw the salmon back in the water, the bones,
I didn’t think they would swim again.
I’m thinking now it was a sign: the rest of the week I had bad dreams.
I threw away the salmon
spine perfect line
wide white eyes
scattered
in my meal
returned
Threw out meat
threw out egg
each pea-sized disturbance
In all the cans of fish
never so much never
so much—
I threw them in the waste pan
and spent the evening
looking
for other bones
I might have
missed
for nights
I dreamed of other bodies
escaping
and bad omens.
The earth was hollow
around my feet.
My feet were wading earth and
rotted branches. Limbs the size of human thigh
and twigs that could fit a small child
hand.
But no trees for them to have fallen
and soon I was buried to my waist and some of the branches
were curved like a bow – like ribs –
and some knotted evenly into a perfect spine
and the salt on the air was soured.
I mean, the stench became so bad
I had to leave the bodies where they lay.
ELOCUTION LESSONS
Grandfather is sitting in the kitchen with “all conveniency” in his cup.
Mother says these things skip a generation.
Q: Is it because “Indian” marries “white girl” produces “half-breed” shortly after “Indian” dies? Because only half the blood can hide, only half the bones come clean?
A: Where are you going with these?
Figures from the CDC are inexact. They’ve been imprecise in their correlations, and
There are a number of ways one might choose
to articulate the shape
dependent
