Good Grease

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 darkness hung at the river
we children saw them far away.
Yes! They were carrying caribou! 
We jumped and shouted! 

By the fires that night
we feasted. 

The old ones chuckled, 
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. 

Mary TallMountain
My Perspective:

When I read the poem Good Grease, by Mary TallMountain, I get a sense of family. Food is always bringing families together; it's a place for gathering, conversing, enjoying each others company/presence, and indulging one's taste-buds. When the author writes "We talk of it when we see each other far from home" I can easily relate; the tiniest smell or faintest face can bring back memories of a grateful/good time. The author and her friends/tribe like to remind themselves and each other of the simplicity and excitement a group can get from simply experiencing a meal together. "Grease was beautiful" because it was the end to their hunger that day, the joy igniting the fire, and the lasting memory of home. 
ċ
Good Grease .amr
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patino617@live.com,
May 17, 2013, 10:37 AM
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