Powwow Dancer

Some men were made just to be dancers
Slow getting dressed slow getting undressed
Feather hats doe skin fringe
And bustles transform
The madman to become human
Grass Dance was his favorite but fancy was freedom
Beneath the bright sun
Symbolic paint divides
The traditional spirit
Black, yellow, white, red
Lightning strikes the sorrel horse twice
And a traditional dance breaks loose somewhere in time
A sneak-up is real to the old in an arbor
Red earth beckons Jingle Dress Dancers
Who laugh at his dream hiding beneath his Levi's
But before Indian Summer they fell in love
He knew how to handle is horse staff
And he stomp danced so well
Sweat touched tongue and the drum
Became thunder shaking the night
Dew lay on the ground everywhere by morning
Then it was time to wash of the paint
And move to the next powwow like all dancers do

by Garry Gottfriedson

Other poems of GARRY GOTTFRIEDSON (3)

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