Back when I used to be Indian I am crushing the dance floor, jump-boots thumping Johnny Rotten Johnny Rotten. Red lights blue bang at my eyes. The white girl watching does not know why and it doesn't matter. I spin spin, eat I don't care for breakfast, so what for lunch. She moves to me, dark gaze, tongue hot to lips. The music is hard, lights louder. She slides low against my hip to hiss, go go Geronimo. I stop. All silence he sits beside the fire at the center of the floor, hands stirring through the ashes, mouth moving in the shape of my name. I turn to reach toward him, take one step, feel my skin begin to flame away.
Copyright © 2002 by Mark Turcotte. Published 2002 by TriQuarterly Books/Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.