Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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At the Arlee Pow-Wow with My Unborn Child

Past the pup tents and teepees, just beyond

Mo’s Indian Fry Bread Tacos, children
are doing the Snake Dance. On the highway,

two semis pass, each slung with half a house,

and deer, leading their speckled young
through dead grass, shudder. Little swimmer

of shallow waters, diver of lights-out

interior oceans—who am I to teach you
how to dance? I buy earrings made from porcupine

quills, lemonade from the most expensive

stand, the one where white boys from town
crush thick huckleberries into the ice,

and I’m embarrassed for myself again.  end  

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