Tasty Cake

Gram made a humongous cake which laid out in a thousand rains. Thick ribbons of water,

 icing flowing down ruinous fringes of receding prairie. The slice, thirteen-foot tall,  

 six-foot wide. Sweet sediment rosettes of frosting––binding delicate layers in charcoal  

 wash. Moist on top, a little dry within the center, where a thousand faces lie between  

 layers. They can’t be seen, but they can be heard. The sounds of boiling meat, popping rocks;  

 brittle skins embracing heat––in fire. Ripping hides, reveal fat scraped fat away. 

 Laugh sounds. I grab a chunk from where a deer lay, I chew for what seems like decades. 

 In my mouth, a tiny shell tumbles around my teeth ‘til I spit it into my hand. I hope I can 

remember the recipe. 

Jesse Short Bull is a student at the Institute of American Indian Arts.