Poem for Wilma Mankiller

A found poem from her biography,
Mankiller: A Chief and Her People, pages 226-229

The entire family rolled chaos
To have a pure prayer.

I tried death, felt its gift
As the woman who lived before,
The woman who lives afterward.

Steady.

To the mailbox, onto the ground,
Grapefruit, pencil, hairbrush,
Toothbrush, vision of fingers,
Hands, arms, throat, water,
Forty pounds, nose, eyes.

Closed, my existence.

I broke, breathing death,
Absolutely still.

My God! That is what I have!
A good mind.

2016

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