nôhkomtipiskaw pisime

“Me either. Dad would be disappointed in us. Oh. I found the Little Dipper. There. Dad would be happy.” “Are you worried It will come back?” Treesa asks.

“Every fucking day,” I answer, rubbing my thumb over the path burned into the back of my hand.

“Me too,” she says.

This, that, is why I love her. She asks questions no one else has the courage to ask and actually wants to hear my answers, my fucked up, complicated answers, not the ‘cherish every sunrise as a gift from god’ crap other people are looking for.

I lie back. I can feel the grass poking through my shirt. It tickles the back of my legs, rubbing against my sunburn. I can smell the green. It smells like life. It’s growth and change and rot.

We watch the sky for falling stars. I can hear my sister breathing.

Tonight is a good night.

For now, that’s enough.

NÔHKOM TIPISKAW PISIME

BY MEGHAN EAKER

i scream to the moon that my body is not a fraction

she embraces me

she never made me prove i was enough before she offered her love