I have a little sister who, she got a boob job,
or breast augmentation is the medical term.
And my father, as Ofelia said, my father is Catholic.
And everybody in the family knew but my father.
And my mother told my sister, like, you're
going to have to tell him.
We're not-- it's up to you to tell him.
And we knew what he would say.
Like, we can do anything but the ones he's worried--
the sins he's worried about our blasphemy and vanity.
And so we knew he would say vanity, vanity.
And so my little sister came home and, you know,
she was like maybe dad's not going to notice.
You know, like, nope.
Everyone in the world notices.
And when she finally told him when
she walked into my parents' house for breakfast the morning
she came home.
And he did exactly what she thought.
And he was like that's vanity.
You didn't need to do that.
Who did you do that for?
And she just stopped with a very serious face and she's like,
are you serious?
Are you kidding me?
She goes, Richie just stabbed somebody five times in the back
and you're mad about this?
And so that has become our measurement.
Is that no matter what you do, like Richie
stabbed someone five times in the back.
Like, that wins.
You can't beat that almost.
Like, six times maybe?
If you really want to.
And so, I mean there was-- we talked about humor too.
And there was that moment in my family
when my dad looked at my mom and like we needed that moment.
Because I don't think we'd really even talked
about what my brother had done.
And so everybody just kind of laughed
and that was the last that it came up.
It didn't come up again.
And I'm being a typical native and I'm
making these small triolets, which are only
like this big, last an hour.
So I'm going to read the last triolet
that I promised to read.
What was it, 30 minutes ago that I
said I was going to read these?
And this is kind of an important poem to me
because I have a little brother who's a tribal policeman.
And he was able to--
I asked him what the codes were and he
was able to help me with them.
So he feels kind of like it's his poem.
And then, my father is always joking
and he always says that his kids are the cops and the robbers.
Because I have a couple brothers who
are tribal policemen and then I have some that are not.
"Tribal Cops, Geronimo, Jimi Hendrix, and My Brother."
"The tribal cops are in our front yard calling in
on a little black radio.
I got a 10-15, for two, six seven, and 4-15.
The 10-15 they got is my brother.
A Geronimo wannabe who thinks he's holding out.
In his mind he's playing backup for Jimi.
He is an itching, bopping head fool of fire.
Momma cried, "Stop acting so crazy!"
But he kept banging air drums against the windows
and ripped out all the screens.
This time we called the cops.
And when they came, we just watched.
We have been here before and we know two, six, seven and 4-15
will get him 10-15.
His eyes are escape caves torch lit
by his two, six, seven of choice,
crystal methamphetamine.
Finally, he's in the back of the cop car.
Hands in handcuffs, shiny and shaped like infinity.
Now that he's 10-15 he's kicking at the doors and security
screen.
A two, six, seven fiend saying, I got desires that burn
and they want 4-15.
His tongue is flashing around his mouth like a World's Fair
Ferris wheel.
But he's no Geronimo.
Geronimo would find a way out instead
of giving in so easily."