an ndn taco for my grandma
she was the one who taught me how to make them
when i was 11 years old
in her tiny kitchen, our home below the ground
we used flour, powdered milk, warm water
and with flour in our hands she kneaded the dough
she always smelled like old cigarettes, her hair in a tight perm, her long nails always golden-pink
polished
but it was the squishy warm dough i remember, the tasty smell of the dough and the hot oil, then
to make goulash together for the first time
an ndn taco for my grandma, who i didn't get to call kokum before she left too soon, or show all
that ive done
finally staying out of trouble, no more stealing candy or burning pencils, or flooding public
bathrooms, grafitti on bridges, and fighting at school
when she left
i was only 15, far away from home, I didn't get to say goodbye or i love you one last time, i didnt
get to see her at her wake
i keep doing art, my grandma, who didn't let me stop since i was 5
at 20 i took up beading from the bits and pieces she showed me long ago, in pill bottles and
fishing line, a lighter and tv tray
this ndn taco for my grandma, who'd bless my bad dreams away with sweetgrass, who never
yelled, who would hug me tight and i would wake up in her arms
for all that you gave me, an ndn taco for my grandma, a forever ndn taco for my grandma