Frybread Momma by Venus Pigsley
You are the frybread and the stew,
the drummer and the dancer.
You are the sweat on the woman's forehead
and the burning heat of the fryer.
You are the flower covered shirt on the frybread momma,
and the grease vapor floating in the air.
However, you are not the chief,
the drummer and the dancer.
You are the sweat on the woman's forehead
and the burning heat of the fryer.
You are the flower covered shirt on the frybread momma,
and the grease vapor floating in the air.
However, you are not the chief,
or the whip woman.
And you are certainly not the burnt bread.
There is just no way that you are burnt bread.
It is possible that you are the indian tipi creepin,
maybe even powwow princess,
but you are not even close
to being the eagle soaring in the sky.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the moccasins by the door
nor the dogs asleep outside.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of the moccasins dancing.
I also happen to be the morning star,
It is possible that you are the indian tipi creepin,
maybe even powwow princess,
but you are not even close
to being the eagle soaring in the sky.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the moccasins by the door
nor the dogs asleep outside.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of the moccasins dancing.
I also happen to be the morning star,
the napkin floating down the lodge hallway
and the basket of delicious fruit on the table.
I am also the feathers in the dancers' hair
and the elders' cup of kool-aid.
But don't worry, I'm not the frybread and the stew.
You are still the frybread and the stew.
You will always be the frybread and the stew,
not to mention the drummer and--somehow--the
But don't worry, I'm not the frybread and the stew.
You are still the frybread and the stew.
You will always be the frybread and the stew,
not to mention the drummer and--somehow--the
dancer.
My mom makes DELICIOUS Frybread.
She's my Frybread Momma
Good metaphors. You stuck closely with the original style. What did you mean by, "not even close to being the eagle soaring in the sky"?
ReplyDeleteWow Venus! I love this. The extended metaphor works well. Did you show this to your mama? You should! I think my favorite line is, "I am the sound of the moccasins dancing." What a quiet, lovely image. And I like the sense of humor in talking about elders with Kool-aid--a drink generally favored by kids. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Wendy. I read it to her with my own emphasis on the words and she thought it was hilarious. A "native" joke that runs with my family is that kool-aid is cheap like commodities and at any age we all still drink kool-aid.
ReplyDeleteJoshua: The line with the eagle soaring in the sky says out of the context that when you are an eagle soaring means that you are the spirit coming back to watch over someone. She is still alive so I am talking about her in the present day, if it said you are the eagle soaring in the sky I would have meant that I miss you but I know you are watching over me. Eagles are very sacred in our culture and they are signs of family or spirits watching over you.