Published in Fireweed, 1995.

 

 

CHRISTMAS AT UPPER CUT MEAT

by Dorothy Blackcrow Mack

in memory of Nellie He Dog Black Crow
near Rosebud, SD

 

My father came for Christmas on the Res
one year, flew two thousand miles at eighty
just to see that I was fine. So Nellie
Black Crow made sure that he was treated right,
asked us over to Rosebud for Christmas
Evening church service at Upper Cut Meat.

A simple white hall, clapboarded by her
husband, Roy Black Crow, the first Native
lay reader in the Episcopal Mission.
The bishops were proud of him; though the land
was still Nellie's, handed down from He Dog,
her father, last of the Brule Band chiefs.

Called "Upper Cut Meat," the best of the beef
issue ration, rib eye and top sirloin,
just for the headman who signed the treaty
when no more bison surged over the plains.
Not much here now, cluster of BIA
houses, maybe ten, and the Black Crow church,

freshly whitewashed. Inside a tall cedar
tree becomes the altar, decked with apples
and popcorn, simple as evening service;
carols in Lakota, slow hymns, ancient verses.
Roy's dead now; the new lay reader
greets my father, "Welcome, Elder Mack!"

Four boys with braids carry in big cardboard
symbols: star, cedar, hoop of sage, and cross,
Christmas story in Native tradition.
First comes the Star, leading the People on.
Next the Cedar, tree of life, tree of earth,
roots, anchor for the journey, purification.

Then Circle, sage hoop, binding the People
to the Sacred Path. Door to the Spirit World,
circling wrist, ankle, forehead, keeping
all pure. Last, the Cross, Jesus' sacrifice
and suffering; yet Cross laid on Hoop becomes
Medicine Wheel, salvation for us all.

Children tie their shining symbols on the tree,
Jesus' life, reincarnate in Upper Cut Meat;
all is well. Last, the midnight feast.
Under the tree, gifts wrapped for each one here,
plus apples, oranges and walnuts for all.

Names are called out, and then it's "Elder Mack."
"Why, how'd they know I'd be here?" His package
thick, heavy -- damp? A two-inch slab of steak,
raw-red and marbled. "Strange present; won't keep."
We get Bibles or Tupperware, troll dolls
or trucks. But for the guest come two thousand
miles, the headman's honor: upper cut meat.