Poem for Wilma Mankiller

2016

Oct 10

Written By

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

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

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