Spokane Tribal Celebration, September 1987

Spokane Tribal Celebration, September 1987

for Junior

This is the first powwow I
've been to in five years, night
falling like an old blanket
on shoulders of torquoise women
selling sawdust jewelry and dreams.
I want to believe every campfire

is a heart, every dollar bill a fire
that burns at the fingertips. I
'm walking with Seymour, his dreams
simple as smoke. "Tonight,"
he says, "I want all the women
to crawl under one big blanket

with me." He wears a colored blanket
for a coat, standing close to the fire
to get warm, all the old men
laugh and call him Joseph. He says, "I
don't have no brothers except this night
and the moon and this bottle of dreams."

Seymour swallows mouth after mouthful of dreams
until he believes his beautiful blanket
is a pair of wings. He says, "Tonight,
I'm going to fly through the pine like fire."
We all laugh, especially me, because I
know the only time Indian men

get close to the earth anymore is when Indian men
pass out and hit the ground. "My dreams,"
Seymour says, "are just like fry bread. I
heat them up and they rise." He wraps his blanket
close to his body, dancing around the campfire.
Someone says, "Seymour is sure drunk tonight.

He thinks the's a goddamn Indian." The night
and Seymour keeping singing names of women
he loves: Jana Wind, Nadine Wildfire,
Suzy Boyd, all the women every Indian boy dreams
of sharing the dusty ground and a blanket
with. Seymour keeps singing and dancing and I

wonder if I and the other Indian men
will drink all night long, if Seymour's dreams
will keep him warm like a blanket, like a fire.


Sherman Alexie.........from The Business of Fancydancing