Rabbit and Rose
When I am old,
I want to stand there,
ancient, bold, and formidable,
ropes of layered seashells
streaming
down
my
neck,
my face tattooed,
my hair silver and flowing,
prayers rising from my hands
for
our
grandchildren.
Water Village,
Ishak,
you Sunrise People,
I want to feast
with you
on crawfish,
suck down shucked oysters,
savor shrimp gumbo,
fill my belly on bounty
among heaping middens.
My fingers trace
undulating pattern,
shell-gorget map,
primeval gift,
seeking the curve
that will circle us back around
to our origin.