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the boys at the low income housing
have car that bounces up & down as it sails down the road.
bright bubble gum flavored paint with glitter
like the spinning carnival sizzler ride.
the windows are black & you hear the bass
buzzing from a mile away.
a car like that would scrape the rabbitbrush
off the dirtroad center all the way to rattlesnake
where their grandmother lives in her mud &
log hogan womb.
an old computer full of data. the boys
think she's crazy,
talking to herself, brushing at invisible insects,
her eyes staring & watching,
not them, but another world. ...the files
are locked & no one knows the password.
auntie bought herself a new dress.
a light green dress of rayon with a tag that
reads "dry clean only",
fabric that feels springy & flowing when
you put it on...
she bought it several sizes too large, then washed
it to make it fit.
who needs dry cleaning on the rez anyway?
auntie wears her dress to the striped revival
tent set up at the chapter house
where the old spiced preacher yells "truth is
better than tradition".
and her daughter asks her the truth about becoming
a navajo woman.
...but these files are off limits, access denied.
i saw da'ii (maternal uncle) a month ago at the
aztec laundry in gallup,
sitting outside to escape the dank, moldy, sugar
softener & pine-sol laundry smell.
swaggering stagger with the knees of his jeans
poking out round in a bent knee shape, he smiled.
almost the smile i remember when i was a child,
but tainted & twisted by chemicals & herb.
then he sat down beside me & tried to hit
on me,
squeezing my knee & asking me if i would
like to go behind the building for some fun.
...harddrive corrupted by the vietnam war virus,
he spits out meaningless data.
sister drove to kayenta for a wedding basket.
amidst the red dunes and the frybread aroma sister
asked the woman
if she ever taught people to make baskets like
the one she bought.
"this is my living. you have to pay for
it." was her answer.
i guess there's no shareware for navajo culture.
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