We drove south on York Road, passing the large brick house that always stole my attention. I peered past my mother's arms and the steering wheel, to take another long, unblinking look. The exterio ... [+]
The elk hides stories of bluepoint and veery.
It's Kokum's prize—calloused hands
weave cord; flesh begins to slide
side to side
knots are tied with tobacco on the mind.
The elk hides stories of blue bunch and badgers.
It's Kokum's crime—bloody hands
tighten guts; flesh begins to cry
side to side
knots are tied with cedar on the mind.
The elk hides stories of gumweed and rattlesnakes
It's Kokum's pride—gentle hands
sew and glide; flesh remains wise
side to side
knots are tied with sweetgrass on the mind.
It's Kokum's prize—calloused hands
weave cord; flesh begins to slide
side to side
knots are tied with tobacco on the mind.
The elk hides stories of blue bunch and badgers.
It's Kokum's crime—bloody hands
tighten guts; flesh begins to cry
side to side
knots are tied with cedar on the mind.
The elk hides stories of gumweed and rattlesnakes
It's Kokum's pride—gentle hands
sew and glide; flesh remains wise
side to side
knots are tied with sweetgrass on the mind.