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The hunters went out with guns
at dawn.
We had no meat in the village,
no food for the tribe and the dogs.
No caribou in the caches.
All day we waited.
At last!
As the darkness hung at the river
we children saw them them far away.
Yes! They were carrying caribou!
We jumped and shouted!
By the fires that night
we feasted.
The old ones clucked,
sucking and smacking,
sopping the juices with sourdough bread.
The grease would warm us
when hungry winter howled.
Grease was beautiful,
oozing,
dripping and running down our chins,
brown hands shining with grease.
We talk of it
when we see each other
far from home.
Remember the marrow
sweet in the bones?
We grabbed for them like candy.
Good.
Gooooood.
Good grease.
