Based on Three True Stories

Bloody crosses.

            What are you saying?

                        9 a.m. Sunday morning sharp.

                                    Turn to Song twenty six in your Hymnbooks.

                                                Why don’t you leave?

They don’t want us here. 

Mitigwakikoog[1] zhigwa miigwanag[2]. 

We don’t want them here.

It’s not proper.

            Don’t burn that shit in here – the fire alarms will go.

                        You can’t stay overnight.

                                    Stop singing – you’ll piss off the wiijigamigishkaw[3].

                                                Why don’t you leave?

Two services – for one elder. 

            One to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

            One to Gitchi Manitou[4].

Her husband stood up and told all of the Christians to go home. 

“She would want it our way.”

Her son stood up and told all of the Midewiwin[5] to go home.

“She would want it her way.”

The room empties.  Yelling and anger.  Red resentment.  White hot. 

Once again the crowd stirs.  Two silent phone calls come later.

As the others are left behind to deal with the scraps…

            The wake goes well into the night, with three days left to go.