"WWW”!!!IUIIHIIHUHIUWII!WWHJIHJIUHHI 134 139 THS “417819 lllllglllll(Lilllzl“Jill!lllllllllllllllUlllllllllllflllll (9000 301834 1846 LIBRAF" Michigan State University This is to certify that the thesis entitled These Are Not The Stories presented by Charmaine Marjorie Benz has been accepted towards fulfillment of the requirements for M. A . degree in _E.n.g.l.J_sh_' W Major professor Date—MM— 0-7639 MS U is an Affirmative Action/Equal Opportunity Institution PLACE IN RETURN BOX to remove this checkout from your record. TO AVOID FINES return on or before date due. MAY BE RECALLED with earlier due date if requested. DATE DUE. DATE DUE DATE DUE use chIRC/DateDuepGS-pu TH ESE ARE NOT THE STORIES by Charmaine Marjorie Benz A Thesis Submitted to Michigan State University in partial Fulfillment otthe requirements For the degree oh MASTER OF ARTS CREATIVE WRITING Department oFEninsh May 1999 A BSTRACT These vignettes are centered on my experiences as an Anishinabe Kwe in a community oF Anishinabeg. They are rooted in an oral tradition oF Native People. In that sense, my vignettes break From traditional western literature in a number onays: 1) 2) 3) 4) These vignettes attempt to capture the rhythms oF Native storytelling. They may employ the rhythms oFsong, chants and repetition. The simplicity (in presentation) oFthis unique cultural representation expounds upon the noteworthiness oF daily events. They are reflective primarily oF experiences. They are stories oF survival and maniFest themselves as part oFa whole in a presentation For the reader. They help envision what challenges are Faced by the author. This unique cultural representation is one oF Feelings and emotion and thereFore allows the reader a glimpse into this real world oFsuwivaI. They are representative oF a unique story in narrative Form oF the author’s ideas and Anishinabe perspective. When a Anishinabe storyteller tells a story, one oF its purpose is to connect and bond with common experiences. They exempliFy a unique perspective oFa Native woman in a Native Community. They are the stories oF IiFe and the stories oF community and Family. They deal with the ideas oF survival in a bi-cultural community, one oF the dominant society and one oF an Anishinabe community. They do reflect the Feelings oF being a mother, a gra ndmother, a student and most importantly an Anishinabe Kwe. Many are mindividually based, or written in First person, since we deFine ourselves though our community. They are community based. While these vignettes may employ some Western literary devices such as metaphor, simile, Figurative troupes, etc., in English, they were developed and restructured to reflect experience, cha nge, and process as a central S) 6) purpose For art. The utility then is not in literary reception, but in the process oF it. They may have been composed in Ojibwa. and then translated into English. These vignettes are reflective in style oF the work oF many contemporary Native writers. They are a series oF tales and the author’s interpretation. In the spirit oF N. Scott Momaday, Joy Hario and Simon Ortiz they enrich our lives by shedding light on a particular situation. They could be interpreted as oral narratives and thereFore reflect a native experience or version oF truth through the eyes oF the author. In the Momaday book The Way to Raf/2y Mount)”; we as readers are given three interpretations. First an oral perspective, as told by Momaday’s relatives or the Kiowa oral history, secondly and anthropological viewpoint and lastly Momaday’s own story when he visits there as an adult. Hario also shares with us her interpretations, in the book TbeJ/Voma/z W/70 Fe// From (/7: $5 In this storytelling manner the reader is allowed a glimpse in the world oFthe author. They become oral narratives when told out loud over and over again. The authors background is that oFa social worker. In that context labels and categorization oF inFormation were helpFul. The author takes the position oF a poet observer and the stories then become literal translations. This bullet style presentation may appear brash at times however it helped the author identity and deFine many truths about this Anishinabe community. This honest approach was seen as a catalyst in helping to illustrate many oF these experiences For the reader. Copyflghtby Charmaine Marjorie Benz 1999 DEDICATION For my Mom and For my grandchildren David and Marjorie and all the Grandchildren and Cra ndmothers to come ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author would like to say ”miigwetch” to the Tribal Leadership Program and the Saginaw Chippewa Tribe in allowing me this opportunity to pursue the dream oFachieving this academic milestone. There are many who have gone beFore me, (nindawemaginadog, ”my relatl'on')and have paved a path For me to attend college today. Many tribal leaders in the past have dedicated many hours. days. months and years oF their lives to aFFord me this opportu nity to achieve a higher education. To them this acknowledgment is given. Ahaaw. ii CONTENTS Dedication Acknowledgment the dust ofsincele moccasins / «30/5/71773/76 Identity the dust oFsincere moccasins moon ghosts Grassdancer Red Power Korean ConFlict Autobiography Native Tongue My Four year old grandson speaks Fluent Oiibwe I am Anishinabe éaéz raééz‘ts on 11/2: road / community and {arm/y Ba by Rabbits on the Road Indian men with baseball caps Memories oFGra ndma's House Indians and space ships Painted by Sergeant Benz Cra ndpa’s Ways My Daughters Tears Smoking Stories For Sarah Boulley reservation amusements Fetal heart drum beats The Irony oFthe Christopher Columbus Syndrome Frozen Cats and Lucky Dogs C-Rides and G—Byes on the Rez Ketchup and Mother Earth Brown all Around Meg: are not ([2; stories /a/c0/70//'5m These are not the stories death IFI had a machine For a heart Survival Skills For Indians Living on Reservations Last Call For Alcohol On a hill Facing West in late October Native Counselor iii \OCDVOSLnkUJM 6 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 3O 31 32 33 34 the shredded 6/004 gamed trea figs of L72}; fore/a the/g / co/om‘a/lsm 500 Years oFOppression later Non-Creation Myth What remains? What they Found in the ground Probably Indian Our Ancestors my dreams tell me Desert Storm Pow-Wow War Stories Reservation Politics The History oFIndian Gaming Indian Sovereignty grandma rhea 122 L722 garden / anis/nhahe spl'r/t‘ua/Ib/ Sweetg rass Stories Where I’ve Been Sweetgrass and Old Testament FireFly anishinabe night dreams and lunar Indians cedar sweet graz 1720de smudge / heal/mg I’ve Been Waiting to Write In the Woods I Hear Dreams oFYou I am Anishinabe 35 36 37 38 39 4O 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 SO 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 the dust of sincere moccasins the dust oFsincere moccasins watching Grand Entry parading colors through my heart song drum sparks memory oF songs heard in my dreams Spirit men and women singing in unison carry us From night into a new day all together as we dream leaving Keweenaw Bay i n our da nce the dust oF sincere moccasins We have an annual r/‘tua/ In my 6mi/y to go to the Keweenaw Bay Pow Wow every year The arena is a na tura/ bow/ shaped arena, shaded with these giant. beaut/fli/ pine trees. Lake Superior is within wa/king distance. It takes a whole day to get there, and everyone is usual/y rea//y g/ad when we do. Its a big pow— wow and we// worth the trip. They have a dance ca/led the Midnight T wo-Step Championship of the World. Its the high/ight of the pow— wow. My sister lived up in Marquette for ten years. It was a sort offimi/y reunion time. One of the great Pow— Wows. moon ghosts my Mother wrote the responsibilities onomanhood on a yellow tablet For me stuFFed into my red, plaid lunch box secretly and all alone over and over I read the three pages oFyellow tablet paper in gym class the power and strength in those words haunt me to this day women elders would have advised me counseled me, comForted me, mentored me about womanhood. puriFication, the rites oFthe moon a century ago, in a special ceremony I saved the letter until I was in my twenties It was lost amid kids books, and prayers / remember having my first period in seventh grade. My mother who was raised in /ndian Boarding Schools like Haskell in Lawrence, Kansas and Flandreau in South Dakota, knew the significance of it though. Perhaps a century ago, there would have been a specral ceremony. She wrote me a long elaborate letter about the responsibilities of bringing li/E’ in to the world and womanhood. She was not able to talk to me about it but she knew the inherent value of that special time in a young woman ’s lids and wanted me to know about it also. / thought about it when my own daughters came in to womanhood and how /saved and treasured that letter For a long time. Grassdancer on that pure summer day at the pow-wow Our eyes met more than once. and I know that you didn’t have to dance right in Front oF me. hypnotized by your exotic sway the Fringe on your outFit was a sensual Fantasy oF sight and sound my heart beats but somehow I was aFraid to say hello For hours I gazed upon the awesome beauty oF your step but a nother pow-wow a nother place and time. one more stare as she took your hand next time grassda ncer The spectacular sight of color moving to music is intrinsically sexual The performance of pow— wow dancers is invigorating to the dancer as well as the audience. The mysterious power of sight and sound arouses a sense of aura and pride in the people. We are trans/firmed 140m audience to dancer and Eel the power of the drum and the energy of all the people. Red Power there like the moon, Our Cra ndmother. Nokomis lea king out, Fertile rich, red. power as old as all women older than men’s sacred pipes, older than those ancient songs onomen's healing blessings and honor even beyond the old ones knowledge. the power oF birth, waits to take hold. Forever an immutable law she is there, like the moon, Our Grandmother, Nokomis bringing liFe to this dead earth You know, there are certain songs, and ceremonies it» women that honor the ability to bring ME in to the world. Menstruation mar/cs the beginning of these Ear a young woman. These songs and ceremonies For women are practiced even today. Menstruation is a time of cleansing and purifica tion. A woman is very powerflrl when she is on her moon. These ceremonies celebrate the power ofwomen. Women are given a specific role in Native society and are honored by their ability to bring hr? in to the world. Korea n ConFlict Autobiography Korean War Veterans. she grew up In Army brat housing projects in Foreign lands hearing songs oFAmerica n Patriotism She watched on ceremonial parade grounds her Ether, in the color guard marching like he marched the Family through Virginia, Kentucky, Kansas, DC. and 42 other states, birthing brothers and sisters along the way. She conversed with the childhood ghosts oF her mother in Indian Boarding Schools and her Father’s Catholic School Philadelphia home. While the Korean War Veterans learned to dull their pain. in the bottoms oFempty brown bottles Like her mother. She heard Ojibwe songs oF her native nation calling her From an ancestral home land in Michigan songs she heard as a child growing up, Familiar, saFe but so many miles From home She has learned to speak a 21" century Anishinabe anthem while guarding a Korean War Veterans Memorial /n Native communities Veterans are given a special place of honor. They are the warriors or” the people. Both my parents served in the Armed Forces, my father for twenty— eight years in the Army and my mother as a WAC. As children we were carted all over the United Sta tes and Europe. As Army brats we kinda en/oyed the special privileges of tra ve/ and adventure. However it was not without cost. We all suflFered From the ravages o/a/coholism, being away from our extended ram/lies for so long. This displacement has allowed our family to be especially close and we en/o y each other’s company despite the heartache. Native Tongue I’ve heard my native tongue rolling oFFthe lips oFelders like the wind through woods oFsome summer day I heard the elders speak as we prepared to eat I knew you were a part oFme, somehow the diction was a long lost relation returned aFter many years and I had almost Forgotten you were there I never learned the names Never spoke the words Never sang the melodies oFyour lost yet Familiar song but like all my relations I welcome you back let me cook you a meal rest and tell me your ways Recen t/y / have been learning to speak 0/1bwe. /t is difiicult for me and a constant challenge. My mother was fluent, and as a child / remember hearing it at the dinner table, at Grandma ’5 house. Although hearing it as a child was a special privilege, it still has some mystical qualities to it and / am in awe of those that speak it as a first language. Once at a community meeting, / heard some older ’nishnabe speaking it and hushed my daughters so that they could hear it also. We are taught that it is an inherent part of us. It is inside of us waiting to come out. We know it instinctively. / believe this to be true, and can sometimes Eel the power of it when it is spoken In prayer or in everyday context. My Four year old Cra ndson speaks Fluent Ojibwe He goes on and on about things that happened in preschool, Things that he does with his Friends. Things that happen on the school bus. I am only able to understand some onhat he talks about, I am not Fluent, I can pick out only a Few words here and there. He was born that way, Some say it’s just baby-talk, But I believe, My Four year old Cra ndson speaks Fluent Ojibwe. Being a grandmother has given me a diflérent perspective on life. / enjoy the time / spend with my grandson and the conversations we ha ve. He seems rascina ted by the most simple things in lire His highlight of the day is when he gets to ride the big old school bus to preschool half a block away. It’s his world. We have been taught that the language belongs to us and is inside us. This is my belie/F I am Anishinabe I am Anishinabe I come From the woods and the water and I have been here Forever I come From the womb oFour Mother the Earth in a ha ndFuI oFsoil I am the spirit oFthe Forest who walks along the shores oF Lake Michigan I live in the shadows oFthe Sacred Cedar I exist in holy song. trickster myth and Ojibwe Creation Story IFyou look you can see me like a soaring hawk wing I’ll be there You can taste me like maple sugar You can hear me speaking In pine Forests and In the summer twilight magic I am Anishinabe I come From the woods And the water and I have been here Forever In school we are taught that Native peoples migrated to America via the ’ Bering Straits Theory’. In our own Creation Stories we are taught that we have been here for many. many generations and we migrated from the East. We have incorporated ourselves into the land around us. Once when walking along Lake Michigan, I felt a certain humility in knowing that my ancestors walked in the same place. It brought me to tears. / fieguent/y go to Lake Michigan to see the wa ter, and to feel humbled. It’s like a cleansing, a purifica tion rite. It helps me to deal with lirE’ and realize how small / am, and how great the Creator is. baby rabbits on the road 10 Ba by Rabbits on the Road Watch out. there are always baby rabbits on the roadl They won’t move u ntil you get up close. The truck makes so much noise and dust, how can they not hear it coming? They never expected a noisy old truck so close to their hone, or maybe they don’t expect death SO YOU 09. A while back my sister lived in a trailer with a very long driveway. Once when driving to her place my daughter said ”Watch out there’s always baby rabbits on the road ’. She seemed concerned that we might run over them. Her innocence about the natural world was refleshing and seemed so real. Her honesty was genuine and I was in awe of the simplici‘nr of life in the her compassion for it. / started to think about those baby rabbits and always slowed down after that. 11 Indian Men With Baseball Caps sitting quietly without their baseball caps they had all come out For the Funeral a twentieth century ceremony For the dead she had lots oF men in her Family u ncles, nephews, cousins and brothers they looked like warriors without regalia waiting to go outside and smoke cigarettes and put their NxMHom back on lots of our Indian men wear baseball caps. Its a ”Rez ' thing. At a flmeral for one of our elders, I could hardly recognize our men without their caps. They looked so odd, so unfamiliar, they were like strangers, / had to look twice to recognize them. They appeared very uncomrtartable without their ha ts and could hardly wait to get outta there and go outside and smoke cigarettes. They were out of their niche, out of their regular domain, but they knew they had to be there to pay their respects. 12 Memories oFGra ndma’s House She brought a broken heart to the church on ”The Hill,” where baptisms, marriages and Fu neral ceremonies attempt to heal the pain oFliFe’s misgivings. She came looking For comFort on a cold November night searching For that peace in her heart. She heard a calming, sweet serenity in Ojibwe hym ns, like ones that Grandma used to sing. Song Filled the church like the warmth that Filled her heart and took her back to Oji bwe prayer meetings i n that one bedroom pot bellied wood stove house she knew as a child. During one particularly bitter cold night, tired and exhausted from classes, / attended a wake Ear an elder in our community. Sitting in the back trying to not be noticed a feeling of calmness came over me hearing those old hymns. It was magical and it took me back to when / was a child. The memories of those prayer meetings wrll stay with me always, / have a piano [ust h’ke my grandma used to. Her little house was always filled with love and song. Going to sleep on the floor was a special treat. We would wake up and all of our cousins would be there, it was wall to wall Indians. We’d play all day outside and in the early evening the prayer meetings would start. All kinds of people would show up, there’d be food and more kids to play with. Everything would get very somber and we were supposed to stay outside. but we never really got yelled at if we went inside to see what was going on. 13 india ns and space ships bronze and copper colored skin dark eyes and obsidian pony tail in town at the white grocery store it says. ”yes, I’m an Indian” he would oF been a natural dancing in a barskin draped regaha he loolo a little out onlace I guess, alien like From another planet perhaps his son is cinna mon colored justlike his dad they went to town to buy groceries I think 01’ maybe a new identity or Fuel For the space ship One day my grandson and his dad went shopping at the local grocery store. I waited in the car while they went in. He carried my grandson and I noticed how difierent they looked compared to all the other customers. We really do live in two cultures. On the Rez we are so comfortable with each other. in town it’s another story. We stick out like a sore thumb. / am aware of the world my grandson is entering and am apprehensive to say the least. Out here on the Rez, we all know each other, we know each other’s family, are happy and proud to be with each other. In town our physical rE’a tures, are like night and day Sometimes I feel like we are aliens there. 14 Painted by Sergeant Benz Dad. someday I’ll miss your Expert medical skills as You painted little sergeant stripes on Our wou nded arms with mercurochrome. We were only three and Four years old When you painted us up with calamine lotion The day we Fou nd the poison ivy patch. Little painted bodies, we were haIFan Army squad. Discipline kept our rooms Orderly and clean But Somehow you always Fou nd the dirty socks hidden Under the bed. Military style was all you knew But Your home remedies and concoctions kept us well every time. We were always so proud oFour Mercu rochrome stripes a nd Pink Calamine lotion painted Polka dotted Bodies Running down the hall. One of my earliest memories is getting the poison ivy. At age four my brother and I got it all over our bodies. We stood on the kitchen table while Dad painted us up with the pink lotion. He was a medic in the Army. As kids when we got our vaccinations, Dad always got to give us ours. It was so special He somehow knew of some home remedy to cure us of all our ailments. His Army ways spilled over into our home lives and he liked to go around the house with white gloves and bragged about how he could make a quarter bounce 0/9( a bed when it was made correct/y. He loved to paint sergeant stripes and anchors on our arms with mercurochrome. It was standard ritual 6r any little cut we had. We loved those stripes, and were so proud of them. 15 Gra ndpa’s Ways Rocking in your rocking chair your spittoon nearby Fly swatter in your hand. I bet you’re thinking about the railroad and how you worked in the lumber camp. LiFe was so natural back then there were no Nintendos or satellite dishes. I used to love to watch you chop wood, there was such precision in your swing. I remember the time when you pulled the snake out oFthe wood pile with your bare ha nds and us girls were all screaming. You were always so special in my little girl eyes. you were Forever the hero. As a child Grandma ’5 House was a very special place. It was pure heaven to us. Our playground consisted of the forty acres of woods and creeks and dirt roads that was our family’s allotment. We ’d play outside from dawn till dusk in old [unked out cars, the old log cabin my Uncle built, and all the other treasures of rural Michigan. They had an outhouse, and a pot bellied stove, not unlike so many other Native 6mi/ies in the 50’s and 60 ’5. There was the old shed to play in, the tractor, apple trees to climb and a Zillion cousins to play with. Grandpa was a very quiet type. Never saying much, but when he did, people listened. I have so many strong aunties and grandmas and he was always supportive of them. As a child / was rascr'na ted by everything he did. I would ital/ow him around and was fast amazed at his gui'et grace and demeanor. As he got older it seemed he just looked for a place to sit comfortably Ear hours. remembering. . . 16 My Daughter’s Tears I cried whenever she cried, being a new Mom, So Fragile, and good, she hardly ever cried and That look that babies have when you Feed them. That look onu re love and satisFaction. When she was born, I looked (like all mothers do) To see perFect little ea rs. perFect little Fingernails, And perFect little toes. I could hardly wait to teach her about liFe and the world She was never aFraid, always eager and inquisitive. As 5 you ng woman. I knew that some special rite onassage would let the world know, But instead she had a graduation ceremony, and a giFt oF”Indian Money'. She was as curious as a little puppy. as a child With the courage oFan elephant. I think she’s risky. But that's just her nature. Grown and on her own now, a young woman walks. Because she had lots oFtears From Mom along the way. When my oldest daughter turned eighteen, I was both proud and sad at the same time. She graduated one year early from high school, from a system that fails so many of our people. She’d fallen in love with a boy and wanted to move out of the house to be on her own shortly therearter. It was hard letting go of her. I thought of our lives together. and how many times I cried for her, and with her. now she was going to be on her own. The ceremonies of adulthood have changed over the centuries, but that mother /daugh ter bond is still very unique. As parents we are able to influence and mold our children and when they are young we always wonder how they wrll turn out. I see my children as the shining epitome of all their ancestors. 17 Smoking stories There on the couch you watched the world 90 by quietly rolling Cigarettes and drinking but you always had a story to tell to the little ones. Your calming touch and laughter brightened many days. But now you're gone and sometimes I can still see you in the dark rolling cigarettes and telling stories. I can almost hear your Flip-Flops coming down the hall to scold us at bedtime. My heart still hurts a lot some days. My mother lot to go on her Spirit Journey ten years ago, but sometimes I can still Eel her presence. We named my newest baby granddaughter aEer her. I see her face sometimes and can almost hear her talking to me. She smoked a lot and the war? of a cigarette every once in a while reminds me of her. In her later years she became very sedentary and oEen sat on the couch in the same spot day aEer day waiting for visitors to stop in and say hello. But I remember her active and alive, playing with us and actively involved in our lives. She was never the disciplinarian, that was Dad ’5 job, and we knew that. I can still see her in the kitchen. the one with the radio on the refrigerator, flying pork chops for supper, dancing a fig with us kids, 7950’s style, to ”Bad Moon Rising ’ by Credence C learwater Revival. 18 For Sarah Boulley Funeral Lament For A Friend On February 21,1996 you went to dance with the eagle spirits in the sky Your Friends and Family cried missing your kind and gentle ways your warmhearted smiles and helpFul hands you gave in our everyday walk. Your son. your Family, your Friends will never Forget the giFts you gave us Sarah. no, we will never Forget. A fiend of ours died recently in a terrible accident. She was only in her twenties and had a very young son. It seemed so unfair, as is all death. She worked in the same office we did, and to this day her death is difiicult to fathom. She was so kind to everyone, always going out of her way to help someone, the accident still Eels so incomprehensible, even though it’s been almost four years. She always went that extra mile to get something or arrange something for us. She tried so hard to please and was so upbeat and Erll of ME. / wrote this poem and her mother decided to use it on her headstone, she liked it so much. It remains in a cemetery in New Buffalo, Michigan. My giE to her. although too late EJr her to realize. 19 Reservation amusements 1987 my HUD house smells oF stale old government we have a rez car when it breaks down I try to Find a sober cousin to make a Few bucks to Fix it I have 2 rez dogs named Nimoosh and Kook they Fight with the other neighborhood rez dogs they lick stra nger’s hands everybOdy hates the rez dogs because they get into everyone’s garbage we Feed ’em scraps but sometimes they chase small children Auntie lives up the road she’s always at the bingo we live on Fry bread bean soup and USDA government commodities a long time ago the white people From town would n’t even come to the rez they were too aFra id 1997 the house | live in is my own now but somehow it still smells oFstale old government I have a new car that rarely breaks down I hardly see my cousins anymore everybody is working at the new casino my rez dogs are tied up now there’s too many kids running up and down the road but they still lick stranger’s hands we Feed ’em dog Food now Auntie only makes Fry bread once a year we have seven thousand people visit our casino everyday sometimes they ride by and stare at us they are not too aFra id to come out to the rez and donate their money to our casino nowadays though In our little Reservation community, we have observed so much change in the past Ew years, some days, I can not keep up with it. It wasn ’t that long ago, when we were bare/y struggling to get by. Its a common story to us all I’ve witnessed such change in [ust my short li'Etime. Our community is so small and close. we share the same pain as well as [o y. Knowing every single person, their relatives and their lives has its downfa/ls as well as its glory. When someone in the community dies we all grieve, when a new baby is born we all celebrate. Our lives are connected through blood and a common history. 20 Fetal heart drum beats a tiny presence was already known In the spirit world by birdsong and some ancient woodland mandate unbelievable until we heard your heart bat like Flag song drumbefis commanding respect there In your mother’s womb connected to inFinite generations oF Anishinabe you wait to walk liFe’s inFinite path The first time / heard my grandson ’s heartbeat, I was so astonished. It was so cool It was like he was communicating to us. My interpretation was so philosophical. here he was in his mother’s womb, he hadn’t even taken his first breath yet. You know I’ve been taught the women represent water, in the ceremonies of our people. We all come from water, in our mother’s womb. But I knew there was more to him than [ust his heartbeat. He was a part of me and all my relation, before me. even before he was born. 21 The Irony oFthe Christopher Columbus Syndrome ”The world is not Flat it’s spherical,” 0 says my worldly brother. He should know, he's been around it twice New Zealand. South America, Asia. such a worldly man. ”Washington D. C. is not that way (pointing Easti,” he said. ”Its down there through Lake Huron, New York, Pennsylvania. see, the world is round not Flat_____ he said.” ”Oh yeah,” I said. Last summer my brother came to visit and stayed Ear a little over two months. His opinions are so difE’rent Eom mine, so far Etched at times. Once he told me he was going to visit a friend in Washington D. C. that he was in the Peace Corps with. He pointed to the East but also down in the ground. It took me a while to understand and I finally got it. The world is round. 22 Frozen Cats and Lucky Dogs One cold Reservation Housing Project- Spirit Moon Day Dad walked out to get the mail He saw the Frozen Flattened cat lying there For days The cat got Flatter and uglier every day Dad thought he saw the Rez kids playing Frisbee with the Frozen cat He never expected to see the Frozen Flattened cat In the mailbox Looking to see iFanyone was watching He placed the Frozen Flattened cat In the next mailbox There are always lots oF loose dogs down at the Old Housing Project They chase kids, school buses and mailmen One day Chocolate The big dumb brown lab, Chased the school bus All the way through the Old Housing Project Barking all the way When the school bus got out on Broadway Road He chased and barked some more A truck came up behind the bus The Chocolate Lab got caught between the school bus and the truck Still barking and chasing the bus The Chocolate lab got scared when he saw the truck The Chocolate lab crouched down on all Fours The truck drove rig ht over the dog without hitting him The dog got up, shook himselFoFF. looked around and started barking again Then he went back to the Old Housing Project To bark some more These two stories actually happened. One was told to me by my Dad and the other by my daughter. They appear outrageous at first. but sometimes I think we live in bizarre times. These stories Will get told over and over and seem to take on a liE of their own. We ’ve heard them time and time again when we all get to visiting on those family occasions, somehow they become a part of us. We all have stories about those ”Rez dogs'. They are comical. and become tricksters in our world of computers and scientific logic. We like to laugh and tell stories about our world. We animate dogs and cats in the process and laugh at the interpretations. 23 G—Rides and G—Byes on the Rez The G-ride went by With all the really Fresh Rez girls inside They were so cool cruising down Ojibway, Otto, and Nishinabe Anong. The 1971 red Monte Carlo was looking good, Cruising to the sou nds oFAaliyah, Janet and LiteFoot. They went to town but The Rez was their domain. They made all the little kids wish and all the Rez boys gawk. G—Byes live in the deep, dark woods, And under little bad kids’ beds. Especially the ones who don’t listen and sass back their Ma. The Foreboding spirits eat bad children and Provide Anishinabe discipline. They live in the minds oFAnishinabe youth. G—Rides and G—Byes lurk in the dark on Reservation Roads. As kids we would get threatened by boogie men and g-byes. They were always lurking out there somewhere in the dark, or under our beds ready to eat bad kids, according to Grandma. This Ear was a type of Anishinabe discipline. Most of the time it worked. Later as a Mother with children of my own I found myself telling those same stories about monsters and boogie men. My children had their own Reservation lingo and a G-Ride was a car, MTV style. My daughters 7977 red Monte Carlo is the G — ride. 24 Ketchup and Mother Earth Once while riding with Auntie coming home late one night, Au nt said. ”Let stop and get some pop and Fries.” I was driving and holding pop with one hand and holding Fries with the other. I asked Aunt, ”What should I do with this empty ketchup packet?” She said, ”Oh jeez, I don't know just throw It out the window I guess.” ”Throw it out the window on the Mother Earth?” ”Yes.” she said ”It will be okay. ”Mother Earth likes ketchup once In a while too.” The reverence we have for our elders is taught to us as children. Long time ago when extended Emil/es were much more a part of our lives, this respect was learned by observation. Today extended families are still important but maybe a little more rare. Perhaps it was economics that kept so many of us under one roof We linger on their words many times and look for profound meanings in our everyday world. When they act like us, it’s unexpected. We laugh at ourselves for trying to be so serious. 25 Brown All Around In Santa Fe. It was brown all around Brown people, brown buildings, Brown hills, brown pride It was brown all around. Under the Governor’s Palace, the people brown selling turquoise, beadwork They were brown all the way down. In the mountains I could smell brown dirt, the pine and the comFort oF The trees and the woods that were all brown hills, brown pinecones, brown ground. I know I’ll never Forget Santa Fe and how I saw brown all around. This poem is dedicated to my Grandson Ba by Dave, about a town called Santa Fe On returning to Michigan from Santa Fe last summer, I was amazed at the contrast. Sometimes when talking with my four year old Grandson, I have to put things into his con text. He was learning his colors when / wrote this poem. He seems Escina ted by it and gets into the rhythm of it when / read it to him. He likes to imitate me when Isa y the words. 26 these are not the stories 27 These Are Not the Stories These are not the stories, my Uncles used to tell, through loud jukebox songs. and crying jags oF sorrow. Through ugly brown bottles and tobacco stained Fingers like war stories oF Korea and WWI I. I heard these stories and saw inhuman Forms lying passed out on the floor like soldiers’ pain bleeding everywhere. The stench oFdeath all about. These are not the stories, My Au nties had to hear. as they danced and tried to cover up with blankets oFspilt beer. As a child, with both of my parents being veterans, it seemed our home was a haven for those seasoned with war and the pain and misery of it. My mom and my aunts went through a lot in dealing with that pain. the pain of war. Their husbands own private war with alcohol It always seemed more prevalent during parties revolving around drinking and boozing it up. I have one picture of us as children and an uncle and aunt of mine. You can first see the pain in my aunt’s race. Alcohol numbed the pain Ear awhile. It is a part of all or lives unfortunately. The women always struck me as having the harder time. Perhaps it was because I was Ema/e and could rela te. 28 Death death comes sneaking around in the dark with a buckettul of tears and a knife stabbing in your heart A community as close as ours grieves together. We are there in the good times as well as the bad. When a good fliend of mine died recen t/y, it was as though our whole community grieved together. This support system is beneficial at times like these. We all share stories about the one that passed on, we en/o y each other’s company. As painflrl as it is, we thrive in the com/tart of each other. We all know exactly what is expected when someone dies. There is always the cooking, the visiting, the wake, the community Churches are always there too. More recently, a difrérent type of flrneral has emerged with the Drum. We all con/firm and take comfort in the sameness of similar feelings and how to deal with it, some more edective/y than others. 29 Itl Had A Machine For A Heart IF I had a machine For a heart. I wouldn't have to Feel sad every ti me, I see my neighbor drunk. I wouldn't have to cry when I heard that he bed up his wite in a drunken rage. I wouldn't have to Feel sad knowing his kids were there to witness it all. I wouldn’t know the pain ot dirty, crying, hungry, kids whose Mother is passed out in the other room. I would n’t know the shame otit, when the newspapers said an ”intoxicated lndian' was on the wrong side oFthe road and that he killed two people. Itl had a machine for a heart. I wouldn’t have to Feel the pain every single mating day. Alcohol had definite/y afl‘eded us as Native people. The downfall of living in a small community is knowing everything about everybody. In my own recovery, I kinda want everyone to see the pain and misery that alcohol causes so that we can all heal from r't together. It’s taken me a long time to realize that many will never sober up. It makes me very sad at times. 30 Survival Skills For Indians Living on Reservations Remember compassion only warrants pain. Don’t Feel and you’ll be all right. Don’t look and you won’t see it. Don't touch and you won’t know the horrors oFit. Close your eyes and look only straight ahead, like a horse with blinders. Don’t linger, you might Feel something. Move along quickly, now. Put your heart in an iron clad box, don’t let it out, and don’t expose it. No one knows how to show emotion Remember we are all stoic Indians. We have learned to hide our pain lust stay drunk. Inebriate you rselF, stay numb. Keep alooF Don’t ponder Don’t worry it doesn’t really matter. No one cares, don't cry. No one will hear you, and iFthey did, they would n’t know what to do. 5ometimes the pain outweighs the good in our community. Many of our families are still actively involved in drinking and dragging. We get used to seeing it and ofl‘en will [ust accept people the way they are. I’ve noticed, personally, that public drunkeness is condoned. It used to be more prevalent when l was growing up. It’s kinda rare now. We still have our characters though. They wander in and out of the Tribal Center, and sometimes appear at community flinctions. Like tricksters they make us laugh, but secret/y / think we all cry knowing that it was us at some time or another. The pressure to con/{arm is enormous. We are ostracized Ear being diflerent. Many times what makes the diherence is having the support system of a sober Emily. 31 Last Call For Alcohol Last call For alcohol, that’s the last thing he heard, beFore he realized he was getting scraped oFFthe sidewalk. It was his 30*h birthday and he was just gonna have a Few. He hit another car head on and killed the driver. paralyzed the passenger. Drunk. The paper sez, ”Drunk Tribal Member Who Kills One On Highway. Sentence: Three Years in Prison” Last call For alcohol. Last call For alcohol. That’s what they said in town at Dick and Dede’s Bar in the 705. Only real bar that would serve Indians. There were Indians passed out behind in the alley, all the time. Lots oF bloody lips, cut knuckles and good times at that bar. You could always Find an Indian there any time oFthe day or night. Last call For alcohol. Last call For alcohol. That’s what was said at the signing oFthe Treaty oF1819. ISO barrels onhiskey, negotiated the lower part oFMichiga n. 2000 Indians were there. The grounds were littered with intoxicated Indians. Signed away 10 million acres oFland. Last call For alcohol. Last call For alcohol. That’s what they’ll be saying at the new casino. They will be selling alcohol soon there too. That will be a First on the Rez. The General Manager and the new Tribal Council say, ”We gotta be competitive, those Detroit Casinos will take our customers away, we gotta be the best there is, give ’em alcohol, they’ll spend more. Last call For alcohol. Working in the Tribal Cultural Preservation Department, has allowed me to witness many things firsthand. In researching our Tribal History, I learned, 6r example, about the use of alcohol in treaty negotiation over 750 years ago by General Lewis Cass. We have the copies of the actual receipts far the whiskey. Being the Director of our T ribes 5ubstance Abuse Program also has given me a unique perspective. Trying to undo the years of colonializa tion and oppresern is depressing. For a long time / was proud that our casino did mt serve alcohol We were the only Casino in the 5ta te of Michigan that didn ’t yet we were very sirccessflil Then came the push to sell it in the Casino. / looked at the philosphical part of it. / was told of all the money we could make ifwe sold alcohol / first cou/dn ’t [ustiry in my own mind, how we could participate in something that did our people so much harm. But big business and money won again. Alcohol is sold in our casino. 32 On a hill Facing West in late October I looked out into the scary blackness oFthe woods and in the immense midst oFdarkness in the eerie quiet oFit all in the tear oFan eye and the sad ness oF repetition reminds me again I’m missing you in the silence oFa starlit evening Iseek the comFort oF your Familiar Calming voice the touch oFyour hand and your arms around me The human connect/On is a fascinating bond. We seldom realize it un til it’s gone. / t changes us somehow, and we long for its power. The pain as well as the thrill to melt our hearts exists far all of us sometime in our lives. 33 Native Cou nselor Once there was a Native Counselor. The Counselor who herselF was recovering From alcoholism counseled everyone and whoever came to her because she believed in her work. She counseled most oFthe people in her community. She counseled Friends, Family members, community members, Tribal Council Members, Uncles and Aunties, and anyone who came to her For help She cou nseled because she believed in her work and she was a good cou nselor. But still the people continued to be aFFected by the scars oFcolonial oppression and alcoholism and they continued to die. Then she did n't come to work and the people began to wonder what happened to her when she didn’t keep her appointments. That’s when they Found her. She died suddenly, they said. An autopsy had been ordered to Find the cause oFdeath. Her death certiFicate read cause of dea th ........ broken heart. Because that’s the way alcoholism is. The overwhelming trauma of alcoholism has touched me and forever remains a part of me as well as many in my community. Knowing that pain has literally made me ill Every Native person who dies of alcoholism makes our circle weaker. My only hope is that my children do not have to go through what / did, to get on the road to recovery. I remain positive, though. Like smallpox, we wrll win this war also and come out the stronger. We are survivors. 34 the shredded blood stained trea ties of m y fore/5 thers 35 500 Years oFOppression Later It’s evil that lurks about our people, like a storm in the dead anight, without a moon. It slithers about (like vile gossip) in smoky bingo halls. It hides under the rumors oF unending whispers oF corrupt tribal leadership. It lingers in the bottoms oF empty beer bottles and shriveled baby stomachs. It’s there sta nding, larger than liFe in multi-million dollar casinos promising big pay outs. It’s the wanton disease oF Indian Nations as they ha ng, clinging on to the tiny thread oF Indian identity and the shredded blood stained treaties ome ForeFathers. Today on our Reservation we exist amid cell phones, satellite television, and mass assimilation. Sometimes / wonder if we Will be able to preserve our culture, our language and our spirituality. / guest/”on some days whether we will [ust all dissolve in to the Great Melting Pot of A merica. The evil spirit that exists in money sure/y has changed our people. We become obsessed with power and position. Sometimes / wonder what our humble, ancestors would think of us today, and all they worked to protect and preserve. 36 Non-Creation Myth I Once a people sprang From the earth’s loin and came crawling out oF Turtle Mother’s back. Born From prayers and cedar, sweet, smoked smudge. The people called themselves Anishina be. and they were strong like black ash Forests. They lived on the edge oFdestiny, protected by birch bark trees and saayma. One day, the people dreamed a terrible disease Called civilization buried them all. ll Only a Few oFthe elders remember those days. The babies are born nowadays without tongues and only a Few are born with hating hearts. Sometimes they cry, but no tears are ever shed. lll Only roclo Fall now From the sky, 3 nd a silent emptiness stands where there once was a people. / wrote this once in a satirical mood. It seemed to reflect my Eel/ngs at the time. 37 What remains? Foreign governments occupy our lands and try to occupy our souls disturbing burial grounds spirit houses and ripping out native tongues it seems they want everything oFours even our bones The Repatriation Ceremonies that our Tribe conducted in 7995, were very healing. The return of our ancestors reminds us of who we are as a people. We reflect on the past to make as whole and to help us heal I am constantly amazed at how our ancestor’s bones remain in museums and universities across this country. What’s even more bizarre is the cranial capacity studies that the United States Government conducted on the indigenous people of this continent. I’ve been told that there are thousands of Na tive American skulls in the Smithsonian Institution. 38 What they Found in the ground Midland, Michigan 1997 - Fall a domestic violence shelter begins renovations and they start to dig. unearthing skull Fragments, baby Finger bones and rib parcels a tiny copper bracelet, belonging to an inFant call the Tribe, get the anthropologists in here yes, they are Indian, perhaps 750—200 years old on a hill, high above the river, a burial site is uncovered a cremation Fire pit, charred human bones and teeth the shovel shaped incisors indicate limited trading with the Europeans you Indians have one week to get everything outta here, alter that we resume construction the siFting starts, 25 piles oFdirt to be reburied on Reservation Property where they will never be disturbed again bulldozers scrape oFFthe top layers oFdirt the remains oFcedar ceremonial lodges are Found keep the press out, we don ’t want the media here, no TV crews, Mid/and County Domestic Violence 3d. of Directors doesn ’t want everyone knowing where the shelter is loca ted- it’s confiden tia/ Tribal OFFicials say: maybe we should purchase the Bldg, and all the land around it and turn in to a memorial no, those bones need to be brought back to the Rez, and be reburied (/p to the Hill where they ’l/ never be disturbed again get the traditional Mide’ people here from Canada, make preparations for the East, pick a date far the re-burial-early November, Ghost Supper Time, we have to E’ed those that have passed away tell those Z rib/wing Cultural Society folks to arrange everything these are our rela tiOns, we must treat them with the utmost respect put them back in the ground, they are our ancestors nindawe maaginadoog (all my relation) nindawe maagi'nadoog nindawe maagi'nadoog ninda we maaginadoog 39 proba bly india n physical anthropological studies were conducted at michigan state university ”in the name oFscience For the Future oFall mankind" we were told ongoing usage oFthe ancestors to study cranial capacity, Femur length, and dental wear and tear aborted out oFour Mother Earth they wait to be examined under a CATscan and be radio carbon dated our ancestors lie as specimens in an ordinary brown cardboard box labeled ”miscellaneous skulls, probably Indian” When we went to look at the ancestors before the repatriation began, we were shocked at the way in which they were treated as specimens. The professors treated us h'ke children trying to tell us about our own culture. A delegation 140m the Tribe went down to Lansing, to look at them, and we could barely believe our eyes. When we were leaving MSU, we saw a cardboard box on a big pile of papers, and it really said ”miscellaneous skulls. ’ 4o Our Ancestors remain logged in books by archaeological dig housed in cardboard boxes beneath concrete shelters they wait their spirits wander in pages oF a twentieth century book now we have come to bring them home we will return them to Mother Earth peace will come to you our ancestors with prayers said tobacco laid and reverence made miigwetch a nishi na beg ahaaw When we reburied the ancestors here on the Rez, we invited the ProFessors down at MSU to participate in the ceremony. We wanted them to see how we treat our ancestors, how we laid them to rest. It was diFFicult For everyone involved. But we wanted to Forgive the people at MSU, so they needed to be there too. During the ceremony a Flock oFgeese Flew over us that somber November day. It was like we were being acknowledged and that things were going to be okay. 41 my dreams tell me spirits speak at night whispering ancient chants possessing secrets From deep inside our Mother Earth clan brothers and sisters weep as they watch us trade ou r moccasins For assimilation standing there watching while wiping tears oF blood over Forgotten ceremonies and anishinabe mouths without tongues In our community there are various levels of assimila tron. Some people don ’t know about our culture and they never will Others are eager to learn about the past, and how resilient we are. This skill I have been taught is what will help us to survive in the hi ture. It must not be forgotten. I hope that one day we will not become a nation of brown people. By that / mean without language, culture or spirituality These inherent values exist in all of us as Anishinabe. I have also been taught that even though we are not fluent speakers of O/ibwe, we still think in Anishinabe. It takes five generations far us to assimilate complete/y. Ahaaw. .. 42 Desert Storm I have a Friend who lost his mind in the sands oF Desert Storm. He drove a tank in the Army Artillery and shot blood stained bullets at make believe enemies. He cries at Pow—Wow Gra nd Entries now. and speaks in bald eagle dialect. He oFFers tobacco and visits the stars asking Forgiveness on a daily basis. His children’s tears are Filled with biological wa rFa re and grenade launchers. Somedays he [ust sits and listens and imagines he hears the voices oFthose who died at Sand Creek. I think. My brother, a Veteran of Desert Storm, was so proud to serve in the Armed Forces. Like so many of our people these Warrior People exist today, and we honor them. I don ’t know the atrocities that he saw, / only know that he drove a tank, I can ’t begin to know the horrors that exist in the shadows of his mind. He has been afiected though. He gets extra money to go to college, and his benefits as a Veteran, but it will never be enough. The Government can never compensate him, part of him is gone. It’s still blowing around over there, somewhere in the Arabian desert. 43 Pow-Wow War Stories At the Pow Wow I knew that some veteran soldier souls were somehow secretly appeased when I heard the eagle bone whistles blow reverence to earth and spirit parties. It was as iF time stood still when women's voices mimicked hallowed chants. Humbled honor drum beats and pride Filled hearts passionately salute those who Fought For the USA these Native American Veterans For you we dedicate this drumbeat Flag Song this our National Anthem A fi’w years ago at the Little Elks Retreat Pow- Wow, my brother stayed by the camp and wouldn’t come out to the circle when the dancing started. I went to check on him and found him crying, his face wet with tears. He didn ’t know exactly why, only that it was the Flag Song that made him cry. It grieves me to see so many of our people affected by the wars of this country. Of all the minorities in this country, American Indians are by far the most over—represen ted proportionally in all the Armed Services. 44 Reservation Politics I wondered what drove them to the madness. Perhaps it was the years oF hunger or the draFt in that two bedroom house blowing in government lies like drunken whispers in the dark Or maybe, it was all those years oF USDA Government commodity Foods Uncle Sam Fed us? I’ve heard the elders say those USDA Government commodity Foods were all poisoned with bureaucratic paternalism, sou ring in the hot summers. noonday su n. Or maybe, they just plain lost their minds because aFter all that there just wasn’t much leFt to keep. Reserva tiOn Politics never ceases to amaze me. We con tinua/ly thrive in the backlash of the scars of oppression. It has been said that the best oppressors are those who have been oppressed. We have definitely learned this from colon/2a tion. Some people thrive on it. It becomes their whole lire looking fiar and focusing on the nega tive. What a waste of energy. Imagine what we could do as a people if we turned that energy around to positive energy. Imagine the world we could create. 45 The History oFIndian Gaming Once. A long time ago. Tribal Cou nci ls Represented an Elected consensus the Voice oF the People who voted them in. These ones had to be Honest, hard working, honorable RespectFul, kind and generous. They concerned themselves with issues Regarding Future Generations oF Unborn Anishinabe, Diligently Preserving and nurturing a liFestyle. Today, Tribal Leadership consists oF Who can promise the biggest ”Per capita” payments From Indian Gaming Revenues. We’ve come a long way From outhouses, USDA Commodity Foods and Two bed room ta rpaper houses. Somehow though We’ll weather the storm and Su rvive the blizzard oFour own empty promises. Li Fe holds more than Blackjack ta bles. Roulette wheels and liFeless one armed bandits The lure of money and power has changed our community. Sometimes fiar the bad and sometimes for the good. This economic boon has given us countless opportunities that our parents or ancestors never dreamed of ha w’ng. / only hope we are wise enough to create a fiiture for our grandchildren that will allow them to benefit as we ha ve. 46 India n Sovereig nty Imagine a nation oneople so poor they lived on the edge oFsu rvival. In the isolated wastelands oFAmerica on Government Reservations a people existed. Then one day in Florida. a Tribe oFIndia ns opens a high stakes bingo palace. They make big money and are suddenly wealthy beyond belieF. Many other tribes across Turtle Island do the same. Opening not only bingo halls, but blackjack tables and slot machines, we had the right to der the laws oFeach and every state. Preying on the very people who oppressed them For over 500 yea rs, then suddenly it’s instant Fortune. They are able to be employed, Feed their children, purchase new homes and cars. This is the miracle oFIndian Gaming. We are a nation within a nation. This is what Indian Gaming is all about. It’s not about morals, it’s not about politics, it’s about people helping themselves become self sufiicren t. It’s about economic self determination and the ”GreatAmerican Dream ’ forAmerican Indians as well as every other resident and cit/Zen of this country. 47 grandmothers in my garden 48 Sweetg ra 55 Stories I can smell the sweetgrass some days when I’m not even looking For something to smell. It’s the pollen thick, rich, aroma oFa thousand old blessings. Unexpectedly the aroma is there, reminding me oF those prayers oFgrateFu l ness oF birdsongs and su nsets whispering ever so gently like grandmothers in my garden. Whenever I am honored to be smudged by the medicines of our people, it evokes a memory of my past. In this cleansing that occurs, lam reminded of the humbleness of my ancestors. In particular, my grandmother. She loved to be in her garden. As a child I remember her with that long old dress with big huge pockets and always an apron. She wore a straw hat and loved to be out in that garden. Maybe it was some sort of refiige from the chaos and clutter of kids. She would spend hours out there, hoeing and tending the weeds in the garden. Sometimes we would try to go and help her, but most times she prerérred to be by herself I envy the simplicity of lite and the dedication she had in the work itself 49 Where I’ve Been I rode my ten speed bicycle on winding mountain roads and on highways covered with blowing snow. I’ve walked though scorching desert sands, dried earthen river basins, trying to shade summer sweat. I've crawled though thick Forest brush and thorn, dense, scrub and Finally come to a big beautiFul meadow with wild Flowers singing, blue skies clapping. and clover coming through my toes. In my lire I have been fortunate enough to see many things. I/n til I was older however I was unaware of man y of them. I ’ve lived in Germany and France, visited Canada and Mexico and seen almost all of our fifiy states. / am a survivor of alcoholism and domestic violence. I have witnessed some of the sacred ceremonies of people first hand and am lucky to have had a mother who was fluent in the O/‘ibwe language. I am wealthy with two daughters and two grandchildren. / have been allowed the opportunity to attend college. It is with great gratitude that lam alive today. I look around and say chi-migwetch. 50 sweetgrass and old testament sweetgrass and old testament danced on the bookshelF waiting to possess souls and pass into eternity they sung gospel songs in the sweatlodge watched PG movies on cable TV and laughed at twentieth century spirituality they smoked peacepipes a nd were last seen doing a two-step across a midnight sky on christmas eve in 1492 In the spirit of Sherman Alexie and Joy Har/o, two of the many Native writers who have influenced me. The dichotomy that exists between Christianity and our own traditiOna/ beliei§ has tremendous/y impressed me. The seriousness of spirituality matched with the candor of na tive humor inspires me also. It allows me to laugh. / am amazed at how our humor has helped us heal In the darkest of moments somehow we are able to laugh at ourselves. 51 FireFly Along the edge oFthe woods last night I saw in total darkness, lightning bugs. Intermittent glow, perhaps It was a Bearwalk or something evil trying to steal my soul. Eerie glances Frightened me and chilled me to my bone. Waa waa tesi, where do you go, in the light oFday? One evening when leaving my sister’s house I was terrified. She lived in a trailer by these woods. There was no outside light only blackness. The car was parked quite a way fiom the house. As I walked to the car / became terrified of this glowing. They were only firefiies but it was eerie and spooky. It gave me the creeps. I was reminded of the Bearwalk Stories we have in our community. These tales exist about spirits that wander in the night looking for souls to steal They exist as a glowing ball of light or fire in the darkness. Spiritual in nature, they exist today and we are always fascinated to hear the stories of them. 52 anishinabe night dreams and lunar indians he’s a lunar indian with his cricket breath and raindrops dancing on rooFtops his cosmos is shining on the earth without light For ceremony and campFire he’s a lunar indian and he makes the Frogs tiptoe and the owl converse in red tail hawk dialect in anishinabe night dreams One summer night alter a big rainstorm, / opened the window to let in the fiesh air. It got real quiet and suddenly like magic the crickets started to sing, then the frogs started. It was like some night time symphony beginning with the onset of darkness. I listened then became fiigh tened at the sound of it. It was like they were all communicating and I was privileged to hear it. I Ell asleep with the sound of it lulling me sleep. 53 cedar sweet gray smoked smudge 54 I’ve been waiting to write I’ve been waiting to write the songs, the stories, the poems. oF my people, For more years than there are stars in the sky. My songs come From the woods. They come dancing From birch bark and black ash, like trickster tales and creation stories. My poems, are born oFthe earth, made oF rain showers, and red sunsets and sands oF Lake Michigan. Sometimes I Eel as though there are these spirits somehow communicating with me. I am blessed to know them and they communicate through me. It comes out sometimes in my poetry and writing. / look back and think how fortunate I am to have this ability. The responsibility of educa tion and the grit of writing are to be shared. Once someone told me that if/ was too shy to share my writings then I have no business writing. Iam honored to have this gilt. 55 In the woods blue sky spirits and white birch trees ancient winds and beautiFul sun Filled heavens adorn trees that speak oF Mide’ lodge and ceremony su nrise a nd woodsmoke stay always in my heart bathing me with warm cedar sweet incense and gray smoked smudge As children, we were taught, early about the healing power of woods. We longed for those times when we would all go walking in the woods. It was some sort of communion. This lesson came from my non-Indian, city bred rather. Its healing energy and power have helped me in many times of crisis. It’s comforting to know and be able to relate this to my children. The healing power of our ceremonies inspires me at times. I have been so fiartuna te to learn these lessons so early in life. 56 drea ms oFyou one sticky summer night I saw iridescent bugs Flicker and heat lightning flash without a sound I Felt a cool breeze and dreamt oF you in my arms and your skin on my lips I am inspired sometimes by the simplest of things. The magic of human touch is phenomenal. We take it for granted un til its gone. 57 I am Anishinabe I come from the woods and the water and I have been here forever 58 HICHIGRN STATE l l l llllll III III III llllll llll 3129301 UNIV. LIBRARIES ll llllllllllllllllllllllllllll 341846 E3