| Frybread in the Arctic |
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| Tonight I eat frybread And Kool-aid is in my cup. the smell of hot grease fills the house with smoke. The winds are not blowing today. The stormy clouds have past, so far for a little while maybe or, Maybe they are just holding back. The bread is too tough, Maybe too much flour. Tonight the man of my life Sits beside me and eats my bread. A smile between us as the room fills with smoke. The stormy days have past, so far for a little while maybe or, Maybe wisdom is just holding it back. |
| written by a Wyandotte Woman |
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