And this next one is called "Christmas
Comes to Moccasin Flat".
Moccasin Flat is a suburb of Browning, Montana,
and it's not an upper middle class place at all.
And it's pretty much gone now.
They've since built-- torn down all the shacks and built
government housing--
the prefabricated jobs.
But when I was growing up there, it
was always an interesting place to walk around.
You could always find a fight there
or find a dog if you were looking
for a dog or just anything.
It was a good place in a way.
"Christmas comes like this--
wise men unhurried, candles bought on credit,
poor price for calves, warriors face down in wine sleep.
Winds cheat to pull heat from smoke.
Friends sit in chinked cabins, stare out plastic windows
and wait for commodities.
Charlie Blackbird, 20 miles from church and bar,
stabs his fire with flint.
When drunks drain radiators for love or need,
chiefs eat snow and talk of change, an urge
to laugh pounding their ribs.
Elk play games in high country.
Medicine woman, clay pipe and twist tobacco,
calls each blizzard by name and predicts 5 o'clock by spitting
at her television.
Children lean into her breath to beg a story.
Something about honor and passion,
warriors back with meat and song.
A peculiar evening star, quick vision of birth.
Blackbird feeds his fire.
Outside, a quick 30 below."