grandfather stonesToday I woke up giving thanks. Today I offered tobacco at the foot of the maple

in my front yard, beside the rocks my daughter gathered yesterday.

 

You know each rock has a spirit, I said

as she loaded her heavy treasures into her patent leather purse

like they were precious friends she was carrying home.

 

She didn't answer when I spoke

what was still obvious to her, not yet forgotten

and if we are lucky perhaps she will be one who always remembers.

 

This one sparkles in the sun!, she says.

This one has stripes like a tiger.

A big dog licks my ear while I'm squatting.

 

How much do we miss each day

rushing from one indoors to the other?

What do the ancestors do when they speak and we don't listen?

 

Come to us as children, so we remember to remember

that each rock has a spirit, each tree a story,

and each day a thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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