She is my home
Mother belongs in grand buckskin.
Like a skyscraper she stands.
She rises against the sun.
I cannot imagine mother afraid.
She is a true Dakota woman.
I tug to release anything from her past.
She whispers, “A snake coils.”
I can see a story developing.
“There is a little buffalo running from a wolf pack.”
But like us, they can choose to run or fight.
I am her small shadow.
The city she gave me,
I call her home.
Two sets of hands,
At different heights,
She is my home.
