FATHER COMES BACK
We hear my father singing
as he rides along
the snowy trail.
My grandmother goes to her hogan
and my mother and I,
we stand together,
laughing.
We stand together
outside our door,
happy because
my father comes back again.
Behind my father's saddle
is tied
the flour sack filled with food.
It is not empty now,
but a sack
of bumps and bumps,
and heavy looking.
In front of him
my father carries
a dry wood box
that the Trader gave him.
My mother takes the sack of food.
I take the dry wood box.
My father takes the saddle
from his horse.
We go into the hogan
with our bundles in our arms.
My mother breaks the box
with her foot.
She breaks the pieces across her knee.
She feeds them to the fire.
The dry wood box
makes the fire flame dance
in the hogan fire.
My mother puts meat to cook.
She mixes flour and water,
a little ball of lard,
a little pinch of salt
in our round tin bowl.
She takes some out
and pats it flat,
and pats it round,
and pats it thin,
and throws it in
a kettle full of boiling fat.
This hunger pain inside me
is bigger now than I am.
It is the smell of cooking food
that makes it grow, I think.
Soon the fried bread
in the hot fat
swells big and brown.
Soon the meat
in the stew pot
makes bubbling noises.
Coffee boils
smelling strong and good.
The hunger pain
is now so big
I cannot understand
Why I do not see it.
