Monday, March 25, 2013

Grandmother

Out of her own body she pushed
silver thread, light, air
and carried it carefully on the dark, flying
where nothing moved.

Out of her body she extruded
shining wire, life, and wove the light
on the void.

From beyond time,
beyond oak trees and bright clear water flow,
she was given the work of weaving the strands
into creation, and the gift of having created,
to disappear.

After her,
the women and the men, weave blankets into tales of life
memories of light and ladders,
infinity-eyes, and rain.
After her I sit on my laddered rain-bearing rug
and mend the tear with string.


Paula Gunn-Allen



 

3 comments:

  1. Gunn has some short stories that are equally moving.

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  2. I was an Anthropology/American Indian Studies major in college. I need to revisit some of her work that has been sitting on my bookshelves.

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