Here's a poem called "Going to Remake this World."
It's a poem about before my wife and I got married.
We went together for a couple of years.
One time, I was going to school at the University of Montana
at that time.
And I used to hate Christmas vacations because I
used to have to go home then.
And where I lived was the Fort Belknap Agency.
And I would go home and there was nothing to do.
All of my friends had gone.
So, I would sit there and look out the window.
My parents lived in a trailer.
And so I'd sit there and look out this trailer window
all the time.
And this poem is sort of about missing my girlfriend, who
has since become my wife and looking out the window
and seeing the people who would walk by.
It's called "Going to Remake this World."
Morning and the snow might fall forever.
I keep busy, I watch the yellow jump
dogs, chase creeping cars filled with Indians on their way
to the tribal office.
Grateful trees tickle the busy underside of our snow fat sky.
My mind is right, I think and you will come today for sure.
This day when the snow falls.
From my window, I see bundled Doris Horsemn.
Black in the blowing snow.
Her raving son Horace, too busy counting
flakes to hide his face.
He doesn't know.
He kicks my dog and glares at me.
Too dumb to thank the men who keep him on relief
and his mama drunk.
My radio reminds me that Hawaii calls every afternoon at 2.
Moose Jaw is overcast, 12 below and blowing.
Some people.
Listen, if you do not come this day today of all days,
there is another time.
When breeze is tropic and riffs the green
sap forever up these crooked cottonwoods.
Sometimes, you know, the snow never falls forever.