I see the Bird Dance

In my mind.

My grandfather bouncing happily,

Methodically, he goes around the fire.

It’s the only time I see him smile.

I smell the smoke.

I see the stars.

I’m wrapped up in a blanket 

On my mother’s lap.

I’m too young to join the round.

I’m too sleepy, anyway. 

I drift to dreamland drawn into

The hypnotic sway of the fringe 

On the deerskin dresses of the women,

Hearing the rhythm of turtle shell rattles,

And seeing my grandfather’s smile.

-jenn