Thursday, July 1, 2010

dance of survival

i love being an Indian woman...
within  me rings the bell in ever melodic richness
laughter bubbles from my depths
the strength of my grandmothers echoing there
stories weave through and light from Creator
finds its way in baskets and bags
and jewelry

i love to go out and gather
feeling the cool gift of green strength against my fingers
even the playful stick of Rose as I gather for cleansing...
my digger clinks against rocks as I dig
deep for the fat delicious roots
singing, I give thanks for such bounty
and in singing gathering continues

when it's time to cook together
the kitchen buzzes with energy - we all have our tasks
as though dancing a familiar and beloved step
we flow from one task to the next
laughter echos from one room to the next
and rich homey smells waft towards the outside door

fervent belief edged in raucous humor
i've learned from my elders beloved and revered
grandmas and aunties-beautiful, strong and wise
with their lessons learned in quiet pain...
no vain suffering their dance of survival still tickles my feet
and behind them i follow in humble
will i be like you when i grow up?

1 comment:

betty manousos said...

I'm sure you already know how much I LOVE Indians!
I grew up reading those fascinating Indian stories!!
Perhaps I was an Indian in my previous life. Who knows..
Love and hugs!
~B xx