Читать книгу Creeland - Dallas Hunt - Страница 8

nôhkom nitânskotapân was born with one eye and one kid- ney

for her grandchildren she worked her brittle fingers into dough, into the edges of fires, into frost-lined canopies, into dust she’d knead with flour and bake for us awâsisak

“bannock weighs heavy on bones,” she’d say, and lick the lard from fingers that cracked with love and life for ancestors that linger, welcomely, and for the ancestors to come

for white men, nôhkom nitânskotapân has awâs tattooed on her knuckles, her back hunched, vigilant, yet carrying herself with that looseness of being that glides on, and with, the wind

nôhkom nitânskotapân strikes with the fury of a thousand aunties, whispering “there is no word for benevolent white men in my language”