Nah-gah, The North Star, by Allison Churches

The evening fire casts our shadows on the red rock;

my hands silhouette wraps around your hair

and weaves it into two braids matching mine.

Your brother sleeps beside you on the ground,

hardly ten, you still hold his arm just like

when we were kids. You  need not worry

about him now; he’ll be fine on his own.

He will pass through life like the sun

dipping below the horizon, the mountain.

Tonight, the air is silent  besides the fire’s crackle

and the mumbled sounds of chatter from our mothers

back up the sunset-colored rock. Your raven hair twists

around itself in my fingers which seem brass

in the fire’s presence. In the dim break of night’s darkness

I can see your hand, glowing golden,

pointing up to the sky. Humming with

the fire, your voice rings out around the stars, flowing

like the river that feeds the canyon.

Tell the story again, I was too lost in your

humming voice to understand. Goat horned star.