Deedhoo

This crisp fall morning, the hide is draped and secured
ready to be scraped and made soft enough
to stick a needle through. I envision a pair of moccasins
beaded and snug and trimmed in rabbit fur.
I need a tool to work the skin.
In grandma’s cache I see that deedhoo – bone scraper
darkened by wear and brittle.

When I reach for it, bone crumbles away
like soil erosion along an Arctic coast, like an indigenous language
uttered in prayer and falling from the lips of the last speaker.
This is what it feels like to reach into the past.

We knew the land,
the code carved in seasons, in stars, in gratitude.

I pick up another scraper; an ulu made of metal and wood
The edge serrated. Here is proof of our adaptation.

Many times I watched my grandmother tan hides
she made it look so simple. Me…I hold on too tight:
blisters form on my palms and Raven laughs at
my graceless efforts.

Sun disappears behind a pewter cloud and in the distance
I see ahtr'aii vee– a little whirlwind carries birch leaves,
lichen and salmon berries
it swirls around
coiling like a strand of DNA
coils ever tighter, striving to take up
the least space.

We were self-sufficient.
We migrated.
We took with us only what was necessary;
knives, fur blankets, hot coals for fire.

My mother takes care of my grandmother
my grandmother takes care of the spirits already in that other realm
and the spirits watch over us all.

Deedhoo – bone scraper
means new caribou leggings for winter, means shelter, means life.

I’m trying to relay something simple -
it’s not the meaning of the universe
but it’s based in marrow, in sinew, in bone

My brothers go out on the land: they hunt, they fish
We are rich in salmon, moose, caribou, for now…
We trade with our Inupiaq and Yupik brothers and sisters
For seal, for muktuk
Today we are blessed.

We work, we create art, we use money
mortgage, credit, over-draft - we know these words, too
As for real being, it’s good to remember our ancestors
they took only what they needed
And all of us, all of us
Should learn to make moccasins, to make mukluks
for you never know when you may have to travel far

I hold this deedhoo, I can feel a
surge from my fingers run up my arms
and into my chest
across tundra thousands of caribou run
I am determined to survive
I am determined we will all survive
We, who are of the land
We, who make tools
We, who know how to use
Our hands to make sense
of the world around us
though it may be crumbling
we pick the pieces up
the skin
the bone scraper
the metal
we forge through another day
so that our children may have
the promise of tomorrow

by Princess Lucaj

Princess Lucaj is Gwich'in Athabascan - her grandparents are Katherine Peter and the late Steven Peter of Arctic Village, AK. She is a poet/actor/director and a former Sundance Fellow and Emerging Voices/PEN USA Fellow where she had the honor of being mentored by Sherman Alexie. Her poetry has appeared in Rattle, Pembroke Magazine, and Bold Ink to name a few. She is delighted to be a part of the Virtual Subsistence project!