When the summer heat seeps in and the sweetness of the willows soak into the ground , signifying the arrival of July , that ’ s when the rabbits , or pòláñ : yòp , come out to play .
Being a rabbit was very important to me , a little eight year old Kiowa girl barely three-feet tall and still growing into her moccasins . As a rabbit I was given the important task for gathering materials for the Tia-piah society , or Gourd society , which replaces the Fourth of July for my tribe — and I did not take this job lightly .
Well , most of the time I didn ’ t . In this moment I ’ m laying under a willow tree , shrouded in its shade , a bundle of its stems clasped in my little fist .
“ Autumn ,” my mother calls out . I do not answer , giggling to myself and thinking she can not see me .
“ Pàuóñgyà ,” she says this time sternly , and with the usage of my Kiowa name I know I ’ ll be in trouble if I stay any longer .
I emerge from the safety of the willow , sheepishly looking up at her . She smiles , coming towards me and reaching a gentle hand out , wiping the dirt from my face .
“ Let ’ s add your willow to the arbor and join the others ,” she says , grasping my free hand and leading me away .
My hard work as a rabbit is added to the top of the teepee , shading those inside . The rest of my rabbit friends are already in a circle , sticky hands squeezing juice boxes and faces covered in Oreo crumbs . I ’ m handed a brown paper sack with those same contents inside , and I run on little legs to join them in the dirt . My mother watches for a moment , then leaves to join the other
12 NormanMagazine . com | MAY / JUNE 2022
Pòlá : yòp , The Rabbits
Story by Katie HALLUM • Photo Provided women who are fussing over dinner for the evening .
When all snacks have been eaten , and we rabbits are full of energy , we begin various games to keep us busy . Rolling around in the grass , throwing water balloons , potato dancing , drawing figures in the dirt , wrestling , singing , and story time from “ grandfather ” and “ grandmother ” rabbit occupies our time as the afternoon rolls in .
Sweaty and horrendously dirty , dinner is called . This time sticky hands pull apart frybread , and brown beans teeter in spoons and dribble down faces . Everyone is together and enjoying the food , the tent we ’ re under is full of laughter and voices mingling together .
As dinner comes to a close some of the men and women begin to trickle out , preparing for dancing . Through the flap of the tent I can see the drum being set up in the center and folding chairs being carried over . I glance back , seeing my mother and grandmother standing together , looking for me . I move towards the tent ’ s opening , trying to sneak out with the other rabbits .
Autumn Sky-Pritchett pictured on the left .
I make it a few steps before I ’ m grabbed by the back of my collar , whining in defeat .
“ Pàuóñgyà , you know where you ’ re supposed to be ,” my grandmother clucks at me . I sigh , folding my little arms over my chest as I ’ m led out and into our teepee .
I stand there as my mother undresses me , slipping a ceremonial cloth dress with fringe over my head . My grandmother stands behind me , braiding my hair and tying ribbons at the ends to my displeasure . I make a noise of detest . She taps my cheek , shushing me as my