Dip my toes in gichii gami

tripp j crouse

Dip my toes in gichii gami,
Anishinaabemowin words on my tongue, 
a gun still smoldering.
 
Beaded buckskin bandolier bag,
decked out in hereditary
jewel tone jams.
 
Dig deep in the heart of winter,
best to walk away now
than leave bleeding.
 
Bodies with no surprises,
corpses of subliminal forests,
standard and falter. 
 
My father beyond the stars,
cluster of butterflies in my gut,
heartbroken and flustered.
 
Damaged cupid wings
won’t rise, I think.
 
Floating along rivers, 
skiffs on manoomin sloughs,
delivered to our hearts and souls
through roots:



Some of our roots 
are dry and thirsty.
Some of our roots 
are sated and full,
sending nutrients and vitality
through the rest of us.