While grandchildren starved, she wept
so many tears her body dissolved,
soaking into the grieving ground.
When grandchildren searched for her,
they found tubers surging in the earth,
Camas lilies out pouring, purple the hill each spring
to sustain them. Now in this totem she returns,
Grandmother Camas wearing her straw hat,
a seedling in her pocket, digging stick in hand,
nurturer and provider, carved by native hands,
raised up at this corner where native grasses
soothe the sorry earth. The drumming circle
keeps the heart alive, the chanting voices
seen and unseen, as the spirit of the elders thrives.
