 This is my cradle poem. An Indian walks in me. She steps so firmly in my mind that when I stand against the pine I know we share the inner light of the star that shines on me. She taught me this, my Cherokee, when I was a spindly child and rustling in dry forest leaves I heard her say, these speak. She said the same of sign wind of hawk descending on the hair and mother's care to draw the cover snug around me. Of blackberry, warmie in the sun and copperhead coiled on the stone, these speak. I listened. Long before I learned the universal turn of Adams, I heard the spirit song that binds us all as one and no more will I follow any rule that splits my soul. My Cherokee left me no sign except in hair and cheek and this firm step of mind that seeks the whole in strength and peace.