Article voiceover
My mother and aunt, both wearing purple head bandannas, took me along to the bead shop in Spokane. The shop was owned by white women but that didn't matter. Beads are sacred in every culture. My mother and aunt were choosing the beads they would use to build the regalia of a dozen powwow dancers. I was never a dancer. Not once. But I was always a dreamer, so I dipped my little hands into the loose bead barrel and pretended that I was sifting through all the molecules in the universe.
Beautiful. I really liked where this poem went. Dreamers.
Keep dreaming beautiful dreams.
I've listened to this one over and over. "...sifting through all of the molecules in the universe" blows me away. It made me want to do whatever I had to do to find a loose bead barrel.