A Few More Sentences – 16

Namebini-giizis (Sucker Fish Moon) Edition

Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. In this case, I am happy to present the SIXTEENTH EDITION! of the monthly sentences.

For those of you new here (and there are many of you, welcome!) this monthly edition, where I post my daily, single sentences that I’ve accumulated for the month-just-ended, is based on the practice that ultimately led to my first book, One-Sentence Journal, back in 2018. It’s worth noting that that book came out on August 14, 2018, and it was August 14, 2023 that I received the telephone call from the governor telling me he was appointing me Montana Poet Laureate for 2023–2025. So there is magic to be found in the practice, if one is diligent!

It’s a simple practice and fulfilling … and also maybe not so simple as it may seem. Regardless, the practice is excellent training for paying attention to the small moments of my life, and I enjoy sharing those moments here. As always, I deeply appreciate your time and attention. If you feel compelled to offer up a few of your own observations in the comments, I would love to see them.

Meanwhile, it seems I slacked off in February posting-wise. You should see my drafts folder! But yeah, sorry; I’ll get it together eventually. As I mentioned, there are many new subscribers. Substack has made some changes and I’m getting notifications that I’ve never seen before which is making my management of these hinterlands that much more challenging, so I apologize if I’m missing anything from any of you. One of their new features I won’t be turning on is the direct messaging functionality. Sorry. I’m easy to find without it.

Paid subscriptions are lower than they have been for months which probably isn’t that big of a deal, but if you are of a mind to, this never doesn’t help.

Preorders for Becoming Little Shell are going strong. I’d love you to consider that too, if you are of a mind to! You may do so HERE.

Finally, remember I’ve decided to revive an Instagram account. You may follow me HERE (and thanks to all of you who already have!) if you are into that kind of thing.

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Advanced reading copies! Every one of these was signed and handed off to a bookseller at Winter Institute in Cincinnati. So exciting!

2024_0201: An Alaskan friend sends me a photograph of a moose browsing among the trees of her backyard and the longing to up and head north, far north, always lurking barely below the surface anyway, surges.

2024_0202: The best of us keep a rain jacket behind the driver’s seat in the event of, rain or shine, a hike breaking out.

2024_0203: The flickers taking turns at the suet cage chat with each other in sounds not unlike those made by my fractious JRT vigorously worrying a squeaky rubber ball between her jaws.

2024_0204: A fine dusting of overnight snow does little more than make the abundant mud a little prettier.

2024_0205: The singular memory that makes remarkable the face of a young person.

2024_0206: Finally, the knuckles are allowed to retain their natural color for the entirety of the road north.

2024_0207: Babbling through the off-balance.

2024_0208: Setting out on fresh, unspoiled snow that, an hour later, reveals the passage of a small gang, all wearing the same shoes.

2024_0209: An occasion to confidently agree to share knowledge I haven’t yet earned.

2024_0210: A day carrying a burden of hurt and indignation that I could so easily clip out of if I could only reach the clasp.

2024_0211: So many Spring Creeks in the world but this one is the best.

2024_0212: Arrived in Cincinnati and will not be eating chili over spaghetti.

Not that desperate for sustenance, even at the airport.

2024_0213: Leave it to the Montanans to ignore the address and proceed instead to the wrong location for the invitation-only breakfast.

2024_0214: Everyone is smiling in the signing line and so is my surging heart muscle.

2024_0215: Never underestimate the recuperative power of the 2AM Son of Baconator.

2024_0216: Social hangover dragging my steps like a parachute behind me.

2024_0217: No less than four migiziwag spotted on special delivery day to Helena.

2024_0218: A lazy saunter under rare sunny skies, spring teasing with cheeky winks from peeks around the corner.

2024_0219: Is there a higher purpose necessary than “just for the fun of it”?

2024_0220: Stepping out of my car in the parking lot of the reservation school as the bullshit pledge of allegiance is being read over the intercom and my stomach turns over at the flex of colonial indoctrination among the youngest.

2024_0221: The diabolical To Do list is the real monster-in-the-closet that comes out at night to haunt the wee hours.

2024_0222: A redoubled cacophony of trills from red-winged blackbirds means spring is, if not imminent, at least looming closer on the imminent horizon.

2024_0223: Excitedly breaking out the maps to plot canoe portages and book events.

2024_0224: The porcupine does his best impression of a sleepy, early spring bird from the crook of a cottonwood.

2024_0225: Under moody battleship skies Flathead Lake is breathtaking.

2024_0226: Tucking in behind a snowplow spreading de-icer for the long slow ascent of the backside of Coriacan’s Defile as the squall around me rages.

2024_0227: Longtail blown sideways all herky jerky in the vigorous wind appears to be enjoying himself.

2024_0228: Whatever frequency it is that 4th graders speak in seems to be the one obliterated by band practice last night because I can’t hear shit today.

2024_0229: Escaping into darkness to hide from the overlit world.

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Whitefish

I spent a lovely day at Whitefish Middle School last week (Go Bulldogs!), talking to a gang of 5th graders, then a pack of 6th graders, then an entire swarm of 7th and 8th graders. While I was hunkered down in the library recovering, my friend Bronwen – you remember her and her magnificent art and poetry from last time, don’t you? – stopped by to say hello. Just look at us! The best part of poet laureating is making friends on the road, let me tell you. Someone even told me I’m their “favorite poetryer ever!”

Don’t worry, her mom said it’s okay to post this: “She told me herself you might put it in your ‘blog’”, mom said. “She’s a theater kid so she’s no stranger to attention.” Three cheers for Bronwen! Art, poetry, AND theater!

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Miigwech, as always, my friends, for hanging in there. I appreciate you!

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