WHEREAS I did not desire in childhood to be a part of this
but desired most of all to be a part. A piece combined with
others to make up a whole. Some but not all of something.
In Lakota it’s onspa, a piece or part of anything. Like the
creek trickling behind my aunt’s house where Uncle built her
a bridge to cross from bank to bank, not far from a grassy
clearing with three tipis, a place to gather. She holds three-
day workshops on traditional arts, young people from Kyle
and Potato Creek arrive one by one eager to participate.
They have the option my auntie says to sleep at home and
return in the morning but by and large they’ll stay and camp
even during South Dakota winters. The comfort of being to-
gether. I think of Plains winds snow drifts ice and limbs the
exposure and when I slide my arms into a wool coat and
put my hand to the door knob, ready to brave the sub-zero
dark, someone says be careful out there always consider the
snow your friend. Think badly of it, snow will burn you. I
walk out remembering that for millennia we have called
ourselves Lakota meaning friend or ally. This relationship
to the other. Some but not all, yet our piece connecting;