War Bonnets

Stacy pushes her way through the crowd.

Leaving a trail of gray glitter in the air behind her,

Replica war bonnet perched daintily on locks fried by too many straightenings, 

She asks me: "what do you think of my headdress?" 

I want to ask her if it's lined with human flesh;

The sequined scalps our ancestors peeled mercilessly from the bone,

Or if the cheap felt and shimmering fake feathers are just dandruff;

Nothing more than the meddlesome byproducts of her vibrant skullcap.

I want to ask her if it smells like gunpowder;

If when she closes her eyes she can hear the bullet whizz past her head,

And the First Nations baby stop crying. 

I want to ask her if being the first to dance with that tall boy across the floor is like being the first to touch a fallen enemy in battle,

And if not, does she have another excuse for this chilling caricature,

And if not, could she feel the traditions under her pounding feet as they danced. 

I want to ask her if the heat from his body felt suspiciously like the heat from a burning tipi,

But before I can, it come again: "what do you think of my headdress?"  

I look up at her with tired eyes and say "I don't like it." 

Author's Note

constructive criticism is cool

also, is the line "I want to ask her if being the first to dance with that tall boy across the floor is like being the first to touch a fallen enemy in battle," clear enough? it it obvious that that's a thing that allowed people to wear them?