We Started Dying Before The Snow, And

It's Impossible To Write About Native Life Without Humor-that's How People Maintain Sanity.

We Passed Over In A Sweep Of Sorrow That Would Persist Into Our Small Forever. We Just Keep Going.

I Am Part Of What She Thinks Is Her Illness, A Symptom Of Which She Thinks She Has Been Cured. She, On The Other Hand, Is What I Was Looking For.

Power Travels In The Bloodlines, Handed Out Before Birth.

It Kills Your Writing If You Try To Manipulate It With Crude Politics.