A Basket of Sweetgrass

I worked on the Miccosukee Indian Reservation for a brief time. They continue to thrive and adapt to the modern world while maintaining their traditions.

A Basket of Sweetgrass

She made me a basket,
woven of sweetgrass.
Her knotted hands toiled
as she spoke of the past.

She spoke of her people,
the brave Miccosukee,
descendants of warriors,
who fought to live free.

They fled to the swampland,
to escape relocation.
They thrived in the swampland,
and formed a new nation.

Their nation was rooted
in ancient traditions.
Blending old ways with new,
their joined, sacred mission.

She spoke, as an elder,
of fear for the children.
If forgetting the old ways,
They should all come undone.

The blades of the sweetgrass
she wove in a circle.
"Expanding, returning,
must be the tribe's cycle."

My basket of sweetgrass
rides high on a mantel.
While her Everglades tribe
makes new stories to tell.