print previewback KEETJE KUIPERS
At the Arlee Pow-Wow with My Unborn Child
Past the pup tents and teepees, just beyond
Mo’s Indian Fry Bread Tacos, children
are doing the Snake Dance. On the highway,
two semis pass, each slung with half a house,
and deer, leading their speckled young
through dead grass, shudder. Little swimmer
of shallow waters, diver of lights-out
interior oceans—who am I to teach you
how to dance? I buy earrings made from porcupine
quills, lemonade from the most expensive
stand, the one where white boys from town
crush thick huckleberries into the ice,
and I’m embarrassed for myself again. 
At the Arlee Pow-Wow with My Unborn Child
Getting the Baby to Sleep