Remember Indian Guides?
Was I running deer or brave deer?
I just texted my brother. I just saw the story again. What a brilliant flame shot up straight into the midst of the darkness.
Our father wore a headdress. What? We put on costumes whenever we were together, I earned my feathers, I was proud. My father's name was Proud Deer.
I will write all day long, I will walk with him quietly through the forest carrying the other end of the canoe. They did not go without me, anywhere. Though they did miss me sometimes and I them.
But at the Indian Guides retreat we were all together, our tribe, the Pottawattamie, orange and green vests with patches sewn on by mom. Please let's make a fire and circle round it so I can remember who I am, who I was.
The ordeal forces a young man to stay with it. I don't care, go ahead pee your pants. You will eat later if you get through this. Nobody else likes these biting flies. We all smell like rotting meat, take a number. Shut your shit hole. I know, I know... but one day you will be able to smell this sweet scent of pine sap. You will pine for a rugged journey.
No comments:
Post a Comment