With Scraps We Made Sacred Food

He was like some type of Indigenous angel or something.
Except maybe his wings were made from tv dinner trays.

Arnold Joseph in Smoke Signals (1998)

don’t talk to me
about spirit animals. but yes we are
boys with wings. we spring from the green
of chief speak. we got crowns made
from the folger cans we keep.
when your feudal nomenclature falls
see my flock fly high and dark, waxing
the sun. the thunder still comes from buffalo manes.
you put a 25 cent hit on their tongues.
you said every buffalo gone is a buried ndn head.
go head, get your refund, cause we ain’t dead.
yes, we are boys with wings. and your hypothesis
was incorrect. our ceiling is a lot higher
than you suspected. we had our grandpa, with his rusty tools,
inspect it. we keep the coordinates of homeland
borders on our necklace. the only gold brick worth dying for
is commodity cheese. it’s worth a tank of gas or dvds.
if you touch our wings or our treasure you will bleed.
like indigenous dragons, our dogs protect us.
instead of fire they breathe hot reservation dust.