Mabel Mckay, Weaving Poem Poem by Norm Milstein

Plumage of a Pomo basket,
Flame of feathers blue and black,
Strung with glistening abalone,
Rimmed with ivory disks of shell.

Read her book slowly or not at all.
She believed that stories should be heard many times,
To sink in and merge with the heart of the hearer,
To sink like pebbles in the soul of the listener,
To grow like seeds in the earth of our minds.

Read her book slowly or not at all.
Better still, read it aloud.
Taste each word and savor the flavor
Of willow and redbud and sedge.

'I never knew nothing but the spirit, ' she said.
'Only the spirit trained me. I only follow my Dream.
That's how I learn.'

Read her book slowly or not at all.
She believed that stories should be heard many times,
To sink in and merge with the heart of the hearer,
To sink like pebbles in the soul of the listener,
To grow like seeds in the earth of our minds.

Read her book slowly or not at all.
Better still, read it aloud.
Taste each word and savor the flavor
Of willow and redbud and sedge.

Plumage of a Pomo basket
Flame of feathers blue and black
Strung with glistening abalone
Rimmed with ivory disks of shell.

'I never knew nothing but the spirit, ' she said.
'Only the spirit trained me. I only follow my Dream.
That's how I learn.'