Cedar
Body aching,
mind fatigued,
Spirit broken down ?
For every sickness
there is a plant who cures.
For every torn tapestry
there is a hand who weaves.
For every lost soul
there is a teacher waiting to reveal their
Ancestral memories.
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Also in Poetry
Molle
The apology and promises of reconciliation just weren´t enough
neither the peppermint mocha or assortment of numbing agents,
they couldn´t erase
or cover up
how broken she was.
Pieces forgotten and long lost
among st the rubble and emotional wreckage
of the generations
Live Oak
She came to us on a lazy Mother’s Day afternoon,
Carrying the story of our family between her brow.
The passages of the births and deaths of our Ancestors
Etched in lines on her hands and face.
