When the ceremony was done, after we’d said our piece and the last dirt was spread, Paige stayed outside the longest. It was dark when she finally came inside. Mom and Frick were smoking in the living room, sipping wine, and I was on the floor, a cold washcloth over my eyes, which still hurt, and Paige went to her room. She came out with the ash basket under her arm. The steel door whined when she opened the hot woodstove, and when she shoved the basket into the fire a log hissed and popped. With the steel door open, Paige knelt in front of the twisting flame. Mom butted her cigarette and was the first to kneel next to Paige, and then I followed, cold cloth in my hand, then Frick, and together we all watched the boy’s basket burn, the sweat on our faces growing cooler and cooler as the basket smoldered and collapsed like the sun one day will, its core blasting out to a great silence not unlike the one huddled around the orange-red coals dimming in the woodstove.

A Note on Penobscot Spelling

A NOTE ON PENOBSCOT SPELLING:

The Penobscot language was, historically, an oral language. Over the years, it was given an alphabet and spelling system. I have chosen not to use that system and have opted instead for phonetic spelling in this book for a couple of reasons. In writing the Penobscot language phonetically, I have strived for accessibility—so Penobscot and non-Penobscot alike can pronounce the words. I do not want to discredit the immense amount of great work that has been done to revitalize the language, which was almost lost due to colonialism. Still, while the spelling is phonetic, I want the phonetic spelling to be a representation of my knowledge of the language. My grasp of the Penobscot language is rudimentary. I have a lot to learn and so too do the characters I write about. What I know of the language has come from family members using Penobscot words here and there and being taught the language in school at a young age (I wish I had listened better!). When I spell a Penobscot word in my writing, I’m actively spelling it phonetically. In many ways, my choice for phonetic spelling—which has to do with accessibility and my knowledge of the language—is a record of the language as my present self and others in my tribe know it.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Stories in this book have appeared in the following journals and magazines:

“Burn”: Narrative, Summer 2018

“In a Jar”: Granta

“Food for the Common Cold”: Narrative, Fall 2020

“In a Field of Stray Caterpillars”: Arkansas International

“The Blessing Tobacco”: TriQuarterly, Winter 2020 and Lit Hub

“Safe Harbor”: Narrative, Winter 2019

“Smokes Last”: The Whitefish Review, Fall 2017

“Earth, Speak”: Shenandoah, Fall 2019

“Night of the Living Rez”: RED INK, Spring 2017

“The Name Means Thunder”: The Georgia Review, Fall 2019