Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Medicine Song

Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Medicine Song

Article excerpt

Because all my Alzheimer's books say I should, I take a self-mandated respite. I leave my woman with her nieces and take ten days away from my daily allegiance to dementia. It's April Fool's Day and weak snow is pelting the T-Bird but not sticking to the road and I'm shooting down the Medicine Bow with Laramie in sight. The clouds break and the sun spokes down shafts of gold and I wish I could reach through the windshield and grab that white dog God by the nape of his neck and shake him till the fleas of human pain and dysfunction no longer linger, no longer are ready to be imparted to those created in his blank-ass image.

Two days later I'm at the Indian Cemetery in Lovelock, Nevada. I'm up on a black rock volcanic bluff, near an ancient dump, and I'm talking, crying, pulling old sticks and weeds off my sleeping relations, sleepy myself, when off to my right, a hundred yards away some white dudes with stereo blasting rap-crap are four-wheeling over the sage and I glare at their rapidly disappearing dustcloud and see that their genes will always whisper: "Take, take, take. …

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