PAWN
Just now,
I heard myself saying,
"I want some bread."
My father is not talking now.
He is looking at me.
My mother is looking at me.
They do not know it was not I,
but this hunger pain inside me
that said those words,
"I want some bread."
They do not know that,
and I do not know
how to tell them.
My father sits still.
He sits quietly.
He is thinking.
My mother looks down
at her hands
where they are resting
in the folds of her skirt.
Outside,
the wind cries
the wind cries
to my thinking.
Slowly
my father takes his concho belt
from about his waist.
Slowly
his fingers touch the belt,
counting,
counting,
counting the conchos.
Slowly
my mother takes her coral string
from about her neck.
She looks at it.
She looks at it.
Slowly
she puts it back again
around her neck.
Then
my mother
takes from her finger
her largest turquoise ring.
My father puts his concho belt
upon the floor.
My mother puts her turquoise ring
upon the floor.
The concho belt
and the turquoise ring
make a splash of color
in the gray-lighted hogan.
He will pawn them
because our food
is getting low.
The concho belt
and the turquoise ring
are for pawn.
They are for pawn.
Pawn to the Trader
for food.
Pawn to the Trader
that we may eat.
Our hard goods,
our possessions
we give them
for salt
and for flour.
They are for pawn.
Who knows
when we can buy them back.
The snow water drops
from the smoke hole
like tears.
The wind cries.
Quickly
my father sings
a funny song
to make laughter come
to my mother and me.