Poetry Review

The Days Before Christmas

Grandpa jumped up out of bed, silently stepped over me. I opened my eyes, saw a dark silhouette go out the door. Loincloth, catching the wind, getting caught in the screen door. Grandpa yelling "Shit" in an Indian accent. He opened the screen door quickly, and came the yelling. Grandma got up. Mom and sister Lou got up. The door was wide open, moon shining brightly. Made the snow fall and shimmer and glow so cold. My Uncles and Aunts were all standing outside, crying, while Grandpa, in his loincloth, beat up Auntie Lamey's drunk husband. As my Uncles and Aunts were all standing outside crying, Grandpa, in his loincloth, beat up Auntie Lamey's drunk husband. The Pueblo nights were long and cold. Cliff walls of snow piled in between mud wall alleys with small icy foot pads on either side. Hyp came home from the army on furlough, tall, shaved head, pushing the thin native body into a different world. Learned to drink in Virginia, learned to be a radio operator, wrote his wife and children from Hawaii, where he was stationed. He brought back the first phonograph to the pueblo, and he played music from Hawaii. He called it "Hula-Oneh", Hula music. He grabbed the towel, wrapped it around his waist, and wiggled his hips, made his children and us laugh. Several nights before Christmas bonfires, he brought Grandma and Grandpa presents. All his children wore bright Hawaiian shirts to the Christmas pageant. We were all jealous. They were all in town buying groceries and gifts the days before Christmas feast. "Lemay, Lemay. Uh, you, you take the kids back home. I’ll be back in an hour. I'm, I’m gonna talk to my friends." "You better not drink." Auntie Lemay said. She hugged him, then got into Jose Torez' taxi. Stuffed eight kids into his station wagon. Auntie Lemay rolled down the foggy window and saw him go into the Lafonda bar, a place she knew well. Many times she had to get him out of there. Uncle Hyp drunk to the maximum. Terrorizing us and his family, who live next door to us. Aunti Lemay, married to an alcoholic. But we didn’t know what that word meant. That was our reality. In the middle of the night, he would howl like a wolf on top of the village houses, kicking up moonlight dust, dancing back and forth like some evil spirit, banging the door and yelling, acting like he was on some American army base, radioing his wife through the window. "Lemay, Lemay. Come in, Lemay, 10-4. Lemay, Lemay. Let me in humo." That was nothing new. We grew up with that next to us, and many of us at the Pueblo knew about that life. You couldn't keep anything secret. And we weren’t trying to. Everyone had our same experiences in different parts of the Indian Pueblo. Learn to read. Learn to write. Learn to speak English. Learn to drive. Go to the army. Learn to drink. Learn to kill. Learn to fight. Learn to hit. That night, she started crying. He started pushing around his kids. I heard all this sleeping next to my mom in the glow of the fire. This would not be the last, hell's reservation dogs would howl not this night only, but many more. A few nights before Christmas, Grandpa beat up Auntie Lamey's husband.

 Old Grandpa beat Auntie Lemay's husband up. My Aunts and Uncles cried. Grandpa choked their daddy, their military pop. Tied him up to the drying racks to sober up in the cold and for all to see in the morning. You know, I don’t remember seeing him the days before Christmas, but on Christmas, I saw him, dancing the Deer dance. I notice his blue, swollen wrists where Grandpa tied him up. His moist deer skin over his thin native body, keeping time with the ancient ceremonial drum. Black eyes (Unclear) came and carried him off, back to the Kiva. Indian, non-Indian, hunter, army, drinking, ceremony, spiritual, drunk, kill, dance, reality, dream. Like some mean project, put this and that in a flask. Mix it up, boil it up. The psychological physics of the gods and goddesses, and given a good drink to the concrete modern native to infiltrate the old native structure of hope. Given a good drink on the days before Christmas, to Mr Lujon. On one Christmas Day, many, many years ago. What nerve of the gods, a weekend Christmas present for Aunty Lemay. A scar across the top of her lip. A wicked Christmas present for Aunty Lemay, forever to remain. Only recognizable on the days, on the days, on the days before Christmas.

 The Days Before Christmas paints a painful and deeply human portrayal of Indigenous family life, trauma, alcoholism, community, and ceremony. The poem captures how violence, military influence, colonization, and substance abuse become intertwined realities within the Pueblo community, while also showing the endurance of cultural identity and tradition. The repeated experiences of drinking, fighting, and emotional suffering are not presented as isolated individual failures, but as generational and communal struggles connected to larger historical forces. The lines describing learning to “go to the army,” “learn to drink,” and “learn to kill” suggest how colonial systems and forced assimilation shape Indigenous experiences and disrupt traditional ways of living.

At the same time, the poem highlights the strength of Indigenous culture through ceremony, family connection, storytelling, and spiritual practices. Even after violence and public humiliation, Uncle Hyp is still seen dancing the deer dance, connecting to ceremony and tradition. This exemplifies the complexity of Indigenous identity, where suffering and resilience exist together. The poem also demonstrates how Indigenous communities often process hardship collectively rather than individually. Everyone in the Pueblo knows each other’s struggles, and the community witnesses both the pain and the healing together.

From a multicultural counseling perspective, this work emphasizes the importance of understanding Indigenous clients within their cultural, historical, and communal context. Counselors cannot reduce Indigenous experiences to stereotypes about alcoholism or trauma. Instead, counseling approaches must recognize intergenerational trauma, cultural loss, military influence, spirituality, and the importance of community healing. The poem suggests that healing is relational and culturally grounded, not purely individualistic. It also reminds counselors that Western therapeutic models may not always fit Indigenous worldviews unless they respectfully incorporate cultural identity, ceremony, spirituality, and community support. This work challenges counselors to approach Indigenous communities with humility, cultural responsiveness, and an awareness of both historical oppression and cultural resilience.

Robert Mirabal is a Pueblo musician and Native American flute player and maker from Taos Pueblo, New Mexico. He plays with the noble purpose of honoring the land, his family, his ancestors, and his tribe, who have occupied the same area of Northern New Mexico for over a thousand years. While deeply aware of his heritage, Robert looks at the responsibility universally: “I offer my work as a healing for the human spirit and a remembrance of why we are all here together.” 

 His flutes are world-renowned and have been displayed at the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of the American Indian. An award winning musician and leading proponent of world music, Mirabal performs worldwide, sharing flute songs, tribal rock, dance, and storytelling.

 Mirabal was twice named the Native American Music Awards' Artist of the Year, and received the Songwriter of the Year award three times. He was featured in the Grammy award winning album, Sacred Ground: A Tribute to Mother Earth, in 2006 for Best Native American Music Album.

 He also published a book of storytelling poetry and prose in 1994, entitled Skeletons of a Bridge, and is currently writing a second book, Running Alone in Photographs. Aside from his artistic talents, Mirabal is a father and a farmer, living in Taos Pueblo and participating in the traditional ways and rituals of his people. 

Robert is also a celebrated painter, poet, and playwright. He has lent his words and insights to several educational and documentary films, including two narrated by Robert Redford, “Silent Witness” and “Sacred Sites.” He is the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts award and the New York Dance and Performers’ “Bessie” Award for composition.