Chicken

Chicken


The sun illuminates only the eye of the man,
But shines into the eye and heart of the child.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature


My wife wanted to give my sons the chance
To see my tribe’s powwow with transparent eyes,
And maybe fall in love with the chicken dance,

But I stayed home. They wouldn’t hear my crazy rants
About the powwow bullies who made me cry.
My wife wanted to give my sons the chance

To enjoy themselves. “Listen, I just can’t
Go with you,” I said to my wife, who was unsurprised
By my need to spin a different chicken dance.

“They can hang with their uncles and aunts,”
I said. “And my mother, she’ll be so surprised
That my sons have been given the chance

To powwow.” And so my wife and sons drove, sans
Father, to my rez on a Saturday night
And spent hours watching the chicken dance.

And, yes, I remembered pissing my pants
When I saw the reds of my bullies’ eyes,
But my wife gave my sons an aboriginal chance.

“Your boys saw joy in their uncles and aunts,”
My wife said, “And the pride in your mother’s eyes,
So be thankful I gave your sons this chance
Because they fell in love with the chicken dance.”



Sherman Alexie