Wednesday, August 02, 2006

poem about to be published

Otter Lake Clan
(A Community in Forest County, Wisconsin)

We Indians gathered
the scent of sweet grass spiked
as women weaved baskets

my, mixed breed, great-grandmother laughed heartily
as a hand carved pipe, filled with pungent tobacco, passed around
to Lumber barons, white people

My, white, Grandpa was such a flirt
he pinched flesh
so many born without his name

red onion dyed threads attached to the baskets
as the umbilical cord twists, giving life
too many adopted

my mother was born, out of the mystery of these unions
many whispered how she had high cheek bones
We are one, weaved into the tight sweet-grass baskets

2 comments:

botz said...

where are you going to publish this? its interesting.

Enjah said...

I like how the images express the ideas