iniskim spring 2015 volume i

Browning High School Library/ Iniskim Vol. I Spring 2015

INISKIM The BHS Literary Magazine

Photo by Dylan RunningCrane


Introducing INISKIM

Why “Iniskim"?

This is the story of the Iniskim as found on the Glenbow Museum website www.glenbow.org.

Although our people began to live as makoyi (wolves) had shown them, life was still very hard and the people were often hungry. One day iinii (buffalo) took pity on our people. A lady named Weasel Woman was collecting water from a river near her camp when she heard something calling to her from the bushes. When she looked closer, she found a stone that spoke to her. The stone explained how it could be used in a ceremony that would call the buffalo towards a pisskan (buffalo jump). Weasel Woman took the iniskim, the buffalo calling stone, back to camp. She told the spiritual leaders about the ceremony to call the buffalo. The people followed her instructions and soon they had plenty of meat and many hides for new lodge covers. There are numerous iniskim on the prairies. Many people still keep them as sacred bundles. We call on iniskim to help us have successful lives.

We selected the name Iniskim as representative of how writing and poetry, for so many people, help them live rich, successful, and personally satisfying lives.

Iniskim will be published online so feel free to share each issue with friends and family on the social media of your choice.

What’s Inside?

Poetry

Short Stories

Essays

Artwork

Photography

Sketches

Interviews

Musings....

Join us on our journey!

We’d love to hear from you! Please submit any of your writing to Mrs. Andreas in the BHS Library! You could also turn your writing in to any of your teachers…they could pass it on to us!

Photo by Dylan RunningCrane

http://www.glenbow.org

http://www.glenbow.org


Forgotten It’s a hot summer day,black bag following behind.They areeverywhere.Yellow and green, mostly all I see.So bright in beauty,harmless.Endlessly pulling thousands of weedsone by one,until they’re all gone.When will I be done?Small and frail and yellow. Harmless.Their roots dig deep into the groundmaking me pull so hard I make a grunting sound.Its yellow flowers fool many.Looking over the fact that they are killing the native plants likethe white invasion.But is it intentional?They were left behind and forgotten.Brought to an unknown land and abandoned. Growing, spreading, trying to find home.Searching for their home.Always searching, but always knowing they’reForgotten.

Written by Tiffany Hill


Head to Toe My body is not just a system of bones and fat, it is much more then that. From head to toe I am a brain of knowledge.I am a personality forged by experience and emotions, by trial and error,by words of the dead and living.From head to toe I am a voice.A melody of vibrations and air.An opinion carried from ear to ear, opinions may vary so beware. From head to toe I am a beating heartpumping hard running from death,fleeing always until my final breath.From head to toe my heart is not alone.My chest is shared like a gallon of milk,with lungs flapping hard like a stupid bird.They share my chest like a misshapen couple,always moving to assure my survival.From head to toe my hips are sexy,swinging left…then right,then up and down, until my fry bread butt slaps the ground.From head to toe we reach the end.The soles that carried me thousands of miles. The burden of head all the way to ankles.My toes have seen more of the Earth than my eyes.They see the things my brain can’t contemplate.They are the holder of all.From head to toe they work in sync.From head toe they will help me grow.From head to toe this is to let you all know,who I am, from head to toe.

Written by Jamison Aimsback


Where I Came From I fought my way out from all the pain Where I come from it’s just a one way laneOne of many brothers who forgave and got away, Just like one another learned to hold strong, everydayThrowing parties! What, another? So sick of old ass ways Diving off sky scraping refrigerators thinking I’m Batman What a craze! Taught to walk on the path going my own way, To the extreme Learned the hard way. It wasn’t too long ago when all my fears were thriving And all my tears were dropping Into the bed And I prayed there, “when will misery end?”So long ago…

Eyes fixed on the horizon Off my knees Only to accept my defeatTo rise out of this madness To live free then die hard To forgive and forget… Figuring it out How I grew up with screams and shouts!!! Going out for another round Adventures all around to come home it’s never too late.Guided by a kingdom constantly being watched Today crawling out of the wolves den To find a better end.

“Live a well life have no regrets bro, you’ll meet your destiny, be lead by your faith now, I’ll be there inside,don’t give up here, not now, shove your way through the fight!”


They lectured me how to live life right They lectured me how to defend my lifeGained an assload of family friends who helped run our Northside Suffered a family full of lost souls The journey only just begun

Lived through a rough heart where do I start? It was a jungle lead by the strongest She only enlightened my way to peace after my brothers left meThe mistakes harshly learned and these scars well earned I didn’t know the right ways I’d rather forgive old days for what they bestowed was out of control Not sure where to go to I sure as hell know where I came from

Written by Sean Lewis II


By the Book: Interview with Mrs. Brenda Johnston What books are currently on your

nightstand?

“Oh my goodness, I probably have about a dozen books on my nightstand right now. A mystery book, All Quiet on the Western Front, To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, Raven Stole the Moon, Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, and there are several others that I can’t think of the name of right now.”

Who is your favorite novelist of

all time?

“You know, I kind of go through stages with authors. I’ll like one author really well for a year or two and then I move on to another. Some of my favorite authors over the years…Ivan Doig (a Montana writer). For a while I was in to Dorothy Walker-another Montana writer. I like C.J. Box, Louise Erdrich, a Native American writer. Harper Lee, although she only has one book that is published at this time. So I kind of go in stages. When I was your age, probably two of my favorite authors were Victoria Holt, Agatha Christie, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,”

What kind of stories are you

drawn to? And what do you tend

to steer clear of ?

“Probably my least favorite genre is science fiction, which is really weird because we read a lot of it first semester but I really do not care for science fiction. I also don’t like just bloody, gory things. I think that life is hard enough without reading those kinds of book so I tend to like things that are light and are going to lift you up spiritually or things that are real…about people…the obstacles

that we face in our lives and how we overcome them…show our resilience. I’d like to add something to that…because of Indian Ed. and the Holocaust has been such a big part of my teaching the last few years, that I do like primarily non-fiction that has to do with conditions that people live in around the world. It makes me feel really fortunate that I am able to live in this country and that we have a democracy and things that we need to make life comfortable for us because a lot of people world-wide don’t have that.”

What books might we be

surprised to find on your personal

bookshelf ?

“Oh gosh, I don’t know the answer to that one. I might have to think about it.”

If you had to name one book that

made you who you are today, what

would it be?

“I think I’ve told my kids this in class…that if I was on an island and I could only have one to ten books with me for the rest of my life…probably at the top of that list would be To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s just a book I’ve read for, gosh, maybe the past 40 years and I’m still reading it today.”

You’re hosting a literary dinner

party. Which three writers (living

or dead) are invited?

“I would like to invite Debra Magpie Earling. She’s a Native American writer, a Montana author that lives in Missoula. She wrote a book called Perma Red a number of years ago and that is a book that really resonated with me. I would also probably invite John Green. He wrote The Fault in Our Stars, just to get some ideas from him. I’d also invite Ivan Doig…I have a bone to pick with him about something he wrote.”


Any book you regret reading and

why?

Usually the books that I regret reading…normally, when I start a book, I won’t put it down. If I start it, I’m going to finish it. And there are some books that I have started that I’ve felt had no literary value, or at least for me they didn’t, and I’ve regretted reading them but because it’s just kind of the way I am, I’ve gone ahead and finished them.

What books are you embarrassed

not to have read yet?

“Well, I was embarrassed that I had not read All Quiet on the Western Front, so that was one that was on my bucket list for this year and I got that one done. “

What do you plan to read next?

“One of the books I am definitely going to read next is Night by Elie Weisel because we will be reading that in class and as far as personal reading at home, I haven’t decided that yet. I like to go to this bookstore in Missoula because the books are about half price, so that’s where I get a lot of my books. I also got a lot of my books from the Lamar County Library because they have a lot of good adult fiction. So, other than Night, I don’t know…but I look forward to whatever it is!

Interview completed by Charro Trombley

“ A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one. “

-George R. R. Martin


I Know You are Reading This Poem… Student writing !om Ms. Be" ’s English class

I know you are reading this poem by the bright lights in KFC after you walked there with your long legs…a female lonely batting them long eyelashes, inhaling a lot, as you hold a banana after a long day at the casino.

I know you are reading this poem because you're a young female, soon-to-be-mom, reading to your baby by the shore.

I know you are reading this under a starry night sky because you are alone and know you don't need water to drown.

I know you are reading this poem by the kitchen table, waiting for the hamburger to be done, with your tan arms you grab the dish at the top of the shelf...you put the hamburgers on the plate and get all the condiments out and say, "dinner's ready!”

I know you are reading this poem asking if there is a way out; you read poem after poem looking for a way out.

I know you are reading this poem while you sit at home, having a couple cold ones watching that beautiful baby girl. You might have had more than a couple because the pain deep down inside can’t be fixed cause you loved it so much you want it back.

I know you're reading this poem with your beautiful eyes, a smart daughter can't be filled with lies, for a short time the daughter cries for the one she loves in his demise.

I know you are reading this poem while lacing up your Jordan shoes trying to shave your mustache, drinking a pop, and eating a pizza all at once.

I know you are reading this poem on the ranch thinking of all the years passed by, thinking about your kids and grandkids thinking of who and what they'll become but you know they'll always make you proud.

I know you are reading this poem as you finish homework that was assigned to you days before.


The Road The story of my life, is like a road,it has twists, and turns, the asphalt is cracked, there are many crossroads,that lead in different directions, filled with possibilities, that could have been, or will be,

i am from the sulfurs of hell,with stories that are hard to tell, i've scraped, and clawed, my way out of that god-forsaken house,with no intention of looking back,with all these roads its hard to keep track,i keep from telling where i'm from,because theres not much to say,it's because i come from nothing,i've met honorable honest people, to vile, wicked backstabbers,this road i call my life, leads me into darkness, but emerges into light…

Written by Gabriel Kicking Woman

I Am I am from where the sun touches the plains, when the black sky is painted with white specks. I am from where the wild flowers make a blissful smell, and paint the plains with wondrous color. I am from where the mountains touch the sky and where the animals roam freely.Where the rivers run wildly, making a path in the deciduous and conifer forest.I am from a odd family, where the laughs never end. I am from a warm house that smells like fresh flowers. I was made from soft hearts and broken dreams.Where I can stand almost any task with the strength, wisdom, and love given to me the day I was born.I am who I want to be and that would be the day everyone can love.

Written by Angelita Rojas-Lopez


Two Way Mirror Everybody is like a two-way mirror.There is something strange about being in public.You look at people and wonder, "What's your story?" Are you hiding something we can't see?Are your words hiding behind those teeth, tearing you up inside?Are you begging for help when nobody is paying any real attention? Do your eyes hold back tears of sorrow and pain? Is that sweet, quiet smile a cry for help?Do you need help? No thank you (yes). Are you OK? I'm fine (no). What's wrong? Just tired (of everything).

Everybody is like a two-way mirror.Two-way mirrors are light on one side and dark on the other.Two-way mirrors are a lot like people.On one side you see the perfectly happy, bright side of a person but on the other side is where they hide all their secrets, and fears, and pain, and cry for help.Every possible sad contribution to a person's person, the dark side.

Everybody is like a two-way mirror.Some people's light side is more transparent than others…you can see their dark side.Think about it.Some people are just better at showing their anger, sadness, and madness.It's easy for people to notice. Yet, there are others.Others who always make certain no one can see their dark side even though they really want to show a little sadness...so people will notice.But they never do. So they slowly become more transparent.That's when people start to ask, "What's wrong?""Are you OK?""Do you need help?"So they politely say, "No" and make certain to become perfectly light and happy again…so people don't ask. Even though they really want them to.People are like two-way mirrors.

Written by C.B.


Dear Sweet Little Flower Sadly, the ice lick chill has come again upon this earth, and, again, you have to leave.The absence of you saddens me…for you shall not be back until spring.Right now, that seems so far away, but all I have to do is wait.'Till next time my beautiful friend.

Written by Fawn Gray

Where I Come From I come from my mom in the deep sea.Learning from my cavern home.Becoming a silent butterfly.

Written by Harley Running Wolf


Mel

The distant smell of forest fire hung over the apartment balcony. The tepid air of summer evening made me sleepy but I wasn’t ready to go inside. A few feet away, Mel lit a cigarette and I watched the embers glow against her face. Sometimes Mel looked like a man, especially at night when you could only see the silhouette of her short hair and how her belly is the biggest thing about her. But the light from her cigarette lit up Mel’s freckles and it made me think of those specks of dust that float in theater spotlights and I felt pretty happy.

“I don’t wanna go home, Mel.” I told her. I didn’t really mean to tell her, though. We never talk much when it’s just us two. We listen to radio podcasts. We never talk. Talking, she told me once, is for people who have such tiny brains their words just can’t be contained.

“You have to, kid. Mom and dad are waiting for you.”

“Why’d you have to move so far away?”

“The same reason you don’t wanna go home I suppose.” She dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “I’m going inside. It’s almost ten you should think about heading in, too.”

I sat there for a little while longer, just long enough for my feet to feel a bite of cold. I opened the screen door and, as I held it open with my foot, bent over to pick up Mel’s cigarette butt. I opened the main door and went inside. Turning off the lights one by one, I made my way to the bathroom where I threw the cigarette in the toilet and flushed. It went in circles and it made me kind of sad to watch but maybe I was just tired.

I didn’t want to sleep in Mel’s guest room that night. The city noises scared me sometimes. For awhile I just stared out the window across the street. Everything was orange in the streetlights and you couldn’t see any stars. I watched some squirrels run up a telephone post. I was trying to decide if I was going to wake up Mel and ask to sleep in her room or stay up all night watching these squirrels. I was too tired to watch these squirrels. I gathered some blankets and a pillow and headed for Mel’s bedroom door.

“Oh. Okay.” I put the blanket down and climbed into the bed which, true to Mel’s statement, was very large. I laid there and thought for a long time because I always think I’m tired until I get into bed and then I’m wide awake. I thought about going home and I thought about leaving and how those two things felt very different. I thought about how much I miss Mel when I’m not here and I wondered for a long time what it means to leave home. I wondered how long Mel tried to quit smoking before she decided that it wasn’t worth it. Mel started to snore and I thought about when we were little and how


she snored the same way. I looked at Mel and saw the freckles down her nose. I scooted just close enough to her so that the cold washed out of my feet, and I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

Written by Dylan RunningCrane

Painting by Michelle Boyce


Body Modifications..Love Them or Hate Them

Tattoos are a very popular trend in this generation. In case you don’t know a tattoo is a type of body modification, made by inserting indelible ink into the dermis layer of the skin to change the pigment. Someone somewhere said that one in six people hate their tattoo and want them surgically removed, a third are afraid of how they’ll look when they are older and 50% regret it because it makes them look common. Honestly if you’re not going to commit to it, and have second thoughts the moment you step into that parlor, then you probably should not get a tattoo. It is a choice. You will have it for the rest of your life, so here are some things you should think about before getting a tattoo

Although tattoos can be seen as bad in society today, they are dated back to over 5000 years ago. They were recorded back to the biblical and Viking era, where an Arab man said after meeting vikings “thought very dirty, rude and covered with pictures,” this was around the year 1100. In both England and France in the 18th century many French sailors would return from the South Pacific tattooed. In England the explorers would return home with tattooed Polynesians, not only that but after Captain Cook returned from his trip from Polynesia, tattooing became a tradition in the British Navy. By the middle of the 18th century there was at least one professional tattoo artist in residence. So tattoos date back further than we will ever know.

“Because they are like the best form of art you can do I respect it because people who get tattoos understand that they are forever and will get tattooed of something that means a lot to their life.”

I love looking at tattoos and listening to people talk about the stories behind their ink. Tattoos are a beautiful form of self-expression and a unique way to display what's important to you on your body. So I think people over exaggerate how bad a tattoo is. You can pretty much get a tattoo of anything, which I guess is kind of the bad part about them. Also the phrase “it’s permanent” comes up quite a bit, so before you get a tattoo I recommend making sure it’s what you want. Not only are they beautiful and you can get them in any color, but it becomes a part of you. A tattoo is something you have to dedicate to, not only is it going to be there for the rest of your life (unless you get it removed which is supposed to hurt more than the tattoo process), but you have to sit there for hours to get what you want. Also make sure you keep in mind, you get what you pay for. If they’re not going to charge you a lot for a detailed tattoo, it’s probably not going to be what you want it to be.

I’m probably one of the few people in the world that thinks a tattoo can be beautiful and meaningful. I’ve seen so many people that have tattoos, and maybe you see something tattooed on a person and have no idea what it means, or you think it’s slightly strange, but to them it could be something very near and dear. Something I thought with tattoos is “The more the merrier,” you could tell a


story with the tattoos you can fit on your body! It could be something you drew yourself, or someone special designed for you, it could even be something you’ve seen on someone else and knew you had to have it. The possibilities are endless.

In a recent interview I seen a picture of a guy that had his arms and neck covered in tattoos, and his daughter was sitting there with markers coloring in his tattoos. On the picture was something he said while being interviewed, he said “I will never get a colored tattoo, that way my kids will always have something to color.” So just because someone is covered in tattoos doesn’t make them any different from you. They are all people too, so why judge?

I don’t think tattoos are all that bad, but I guess it depends on how you use them and what you put on your body. Some of the nicest people i’ve met were tattooed and pierced up,which makes me think that people judge them for looking the way they do and making the choices they did so they wouldn’t want anyone to

feel like that. I have two tattoos and multiple piercings, and I’m not even close to being done with them. I love tattoos and piercings. They help me express myself, even if some people don’t agree with me, and I know not all body modifications have a meaning but your body is a temple, so why not decorate the walls?


Where I’m From I am from the strong winds that carry the echoes.The kind that blasts you back on impact from head to toe. I am from the whispers as you walk by your peers. The glares they give you and all the things you hear.I am from the strength passed down from generation to generation. The strong Crawford family will that I inherited is my declaration.

I am from the willows that reach my skin.The burning sensation gives me discipline.I am from the singing and dancing on my tribe.The powwows that we have here is my pride.I am from this tiny town and Its where I stay.One day I will leave because the wind is carrying me a change!

Written by Shane Wells

Painting by Hillary Omeasoo-Kipp


Butterfly Angst A butterfly is who I amI crawl, I sit, I flyI do this until I dieI help pollinateI express beauty Then I die, because I'm a butterflyWhat is the purpose of life?I’m here for a brief period of time I wish to be a peacock Or something with a functionTo the world I’m supposed to beMaybe a tree?Can I go where ill be free? To live to eternity, like the great oaks ill stand tallMahogany table dine with the throneA wooden mallet constructing divine objectbut no I'm still a butterflyAn insect born to beWhat is the purpose of life?Why can’t I be a precious metal?Or a diamond Then i could be wanted for eternityIt’s unique to have this ideologyfor a simple butterflyto sit here with thoughtsincapable of actionsWhy do i have to be a simple butterfly?

Written by Zeus Rutherford


Unfinished Journey… I am from the studio apartmentto the better two bedroom.I am from the train station benchesto the Greyhound bus stop. From pack up hereto unpack there.

I am from “Don’t touch anything”to “Help yourself to whatever.”I am from the morning dew and fogto the summer storms for weeks. I am from totem poles and cedar weavingfrom “You can do it…push yourself”to “You can’t do it…you’re going to fail.”

I am from Grandma Bubbles braiding her hairto telling us to “put holy water on.”I am from new places and facesto familiar feelings.

I am from enchiladas, carne asada, and horchatato Indian tacos, fruit salad, and sweet tea.I am from Hilltop Christian Centerto Little Flower Parish Catholic Church.

I am from giving up on my dreamsto making my dreams a reality.

Written by Angelica Montoya


Frost in the Blood The cool early morning chill on my neck made me feel awake. I could feel the breeze on my back, swaying the trees back and forth, and the brisk early winter feeling across the bridge of my nose. My breathing was calm as I took my aim. I was scared, scared of being spotted, scared of being killed. The wolf was sitting by a tree, not moving. It almost seemed unaware of my presence, but deep down, I had a feeling it already knew I was near. In my mind, I was saying, “turn back and head home,” but my fingers were ready, and my heart was beating like a bass drum.

It was the first time I had found a wolf, and I was not sure if any others were around the area. My brother was just a little bit behind the bushes, and he did nothing. It was my time to hunt, my turn to risk. He practically forced me to go hunting. It all came down to this one wolf. It couldn’t be a harmless deer, or a duck. Nope. It was a damn wolf. My brother was not scared, being in the army and everything, hardened his mind.

I looked down my scope. Thank God the wind died down, and my target was only at least 20 feet away though in my mind it felt way closer than that. Sitting behind the rock, I took a stance, took aim of my target, inhaled the frost of the air, exhaled, and fired.

I knew I hit my target by the sound of the yelp he made as the bullet entered his chest. I thought it was a going to be a instant kill, but I was wrong. I sat there a while, expecting something to happen, but nothing did. My brother came out and walked over to it. He stared at it for a short while, and then he signaled for me to come over. At the time, I had no idea it was still alive. We stared at the wolf as it struggled for air, whining and kicking, and my brother gave me his 357. “You need to end it’s suffering.” I took the gun in my hand. Never in my life had it ever felt so heavy, as if he had just handed me a heavy weight, a weight I did not want. So I gave it back. I could tell he understood by the look on his face. It was a look of understanding. “Go ahead and be heading back. I’ll follow when I finish up here.” I nodded and walked away. As I was half way up the hill, I heard the shot…the shot that caused me never to hunt wolves ever again.

Written by Terrell CrossGuns

Artwork by Riley Augare

iniskim spring 2015 volume i

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