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Coming Back Round

Coming Back Round molly mcglennen For Ignatia Broker Our way of life is changing, and there is much we must accept. But let it be only the good. And we must always remember the old ways. We must pass them onto our children and grandchildren so they too will recognize the good in the new ways. From Night Flying Woman I am a woman of mirrors the full-length on the back of a bathroom door. Yesterday, I see her again silver hair, brittle legs, stockings. Tomorrow at the university I teach about "story cycles" and "multiple narrators" And I will wonder: How many angles does one reflection make? Young sisters jumping in heaps of leaves see themselves for the first time in pieces. The fall I learned to collect leaves I'd place them between paper transfer their veins through green crayon sail · winter 2007 · vol. 19, no. 4 like the ones in my hands thin and busy the only part of me I'd study. My mother would sit me on the rock comb through my wet hair weave two braids on either side so the next day my hair would have waves all the while my hands going over http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Studies in American Indian Literatures University of Nebraska Press

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2007 by the individual contributors. All rights reserved.
ISSN
1548-9590
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

molly mcglennen For Ignatia Broker Our way of life is changing, and there is much we must accept. But let it be only the good. And we must always remember the old ways. We must pass them onto our children and grandchildren so they too will recognize the good in the new ways. From Night Flying Woman I am a woman of mirrors the full-length on the back of a bathroom door. Yesterday, I see her again silver hair, brittle legs, stockings. Tomorrow at the university I teach about "story cycles" and "multiple narrators" And I will wonder: How many angles does one reflection make? Young sisters jumping in heaps of leaves see themselves for the first time in pieces. The fall I learned to collect leaves I'd place them between paper transfer their veins through green crayon sail · winter 2007 · vol. 19, no. 4 like the ones in my hands thin and busy the only part of me I'd study. My mother would sit me on the rock comb through my wet hair weave two braids on either side so the next day my hair would have waves all the while my hands going over

Journal

Studies in American Indian LiteraturesUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Apr 4, 2008

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