old crow of a woman in bonnet, sifting through the dump

salvaging those parts of the world

neither useless nor useful

​

she would be hours in the sweatlodge

come out naked and brilliant in the sun

steam rising off her body in winter

like a slow explosion of horses

​

she braided my sister's hair with hands that smelled deep

roots buried in the earth

she told me the old stories

​

how time never mattered

when she died

they gave me her clock