Powwow Day

Then I remember.
No dancing.
No jingle dress competition for me.
Not at this tribal powwow.
“I wish my hair weren’t still so short.” I sigh.
Mama lays out the moccasins that match my dress. “But everyone wants to see you,” Amber reminds me. “Why? I can’t dance like I could before I got sick.” “But you will dance again,” she responds.
I stay silent
as Daddy drives us to the powwow grounds. I usually savor and sweetgrass,
the scents of sage
but not today.
The breeze prickles
my skin.
I’m tired already.
Daddy arranges our chairs near the family drum. Mama squeezes me close. “Doing OK?” I nod, but I’m not.
I watch my friend Dawn get ready to dance.
No, I’m not OK.