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Two Poems

Two Poems RICHARD VAN CAMP fifty below I remember one time in Fort Rae I was walking with my cousins, four girls, who were walking with me. They were laughing at me, those girls, and I was wearing my father’s boots two sizes too big for me. And these four girls, these four cousins, they laughed at me as I dragged my boots. “You girls,” I said. “What’s so funny?” One girl, one cousin, stopped and pointed to my feet: “Auntie told us, if you’re going to marry a man, listen to his feet when you walk with him. If he drags his feet when he walks you must not marry him: he is lazy— no good. 21 He won’t be a good father. He won’t be a good husband.” And those four girls, those four cousins, They ran far ahead of me laughing. And this time when I ran after them I lifted my feet as high as I could. the dene speak Someone is throwing snow to look like paper, the way it swirls like puppets on strings caught up in wind, I remember these words whispered to me by a Cree woman who could put the taste of http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Manoa University of Hawai'I Press

Two Poems

Manoa , Volume 25 (1) – Jul 10, 2013

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Publisher
University of Hawai'I Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2008 University of Hawai'i Press.
ISSN
1527-943x

Abstract

RICHARD VAN CAMP fifty below I remember one time in Fort Rae I was walking with my cousins, four girls, who were walking with me. They were laughing at me, those girls, and I was wearing my father’s boots two sizes too big for me. And these four girls, these four cousins, they laughed at me as I dragged my boots. “You girls,” I said. “What’s so funny?” One girl, one cousin, stopped and pointed to my feet: “Auntie told us, if you’re going to marry a man, listen to his feet when you walk with him. If he drags his feet when he walks you must not marry him: he is lazy— no good. 21 He won’t be a good father. He won’t be a good husband.” And those four girls, those four cousins, They ran far ahead of me laughing. And this time when I ran after them I lifted my feet as high as I could. the dene speak Someone is throwing snow to look like paper, the way it swirls like puppets on strings caught up in wind, I remember these words whispered to me by a Cree woman who could put the taste of

Journal

ManoaUniversity of Hawai'I Press

Published: Jul 10, 2013

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