The women in my family watch the sky.
They know how to find their way by starlight.
They wear their history in their hands.
The women in my family walk into the rooms
of rivers like familiar lovers. Sometimes,
at the ocean, they get lost in sound.
They treasure feathers, lupine,
huckleberry stains. I’ve seen them bend over the Sunday funnies,
laughing, then tip their faces up to welcome rain.
The women in my family drive
easy bargains: they know fire comes from earth as well as sky.
They open their arms wide. They pull you in.