I dreamt last night of a Cherokee woman
Standing in a delicate, pliable rain
Opening her arms to the sun as a flower
Unfolds, stretching each petal

Individually and deliberately. She rose
Onto the tips of her toes and I could see
That the bottoms of her feet were golden-brown
And speckled with bits and pieces of earth.

I traced her steps through the day,
Following her as she picked
Red and blue berries for dye-making;
Trailing her as she stalked

A rabbit—aiming, shooting,
Firmly and gently peeling skin from the body.
And at night, I hid in her room—
Stood amid her soft hanging clothes,

Inhaled her raw scent,
(Wishing I could just exist like that)
And watched her chest rise and fall
To a rhythm I cannot hear.

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