Forestry

Forestry


Monday morning it had to be when we, meaning the three of
us, as in Joe-Joe, Stan and me, cutting through the brush thick
as our hungover vision, when Stan cut the hornet's nest in half.
There was no time for fear, our stomachs throw up empty,
our spirit animals chased us back to the truck like ironic arrows.
I was the bravest warrior, killed many hornets while stung
only twelve times. Joe-Joe was in the hospital for a week. Stan
ran past the truck that day, is still running, slapping his skin,
waving his arms wildly at real and imaginary enemies.
Late at night, you can hear Stan's song echo across the
reservation, his feet pounding the earth like a drum.
It's the loneliest song you will ever hear.


Sherman Alexie..............from Old Shirts & New Skins