Weaving Native Life Poem by Jennifer Cahill

Trees' jagged branches
catch the sun sinking a moist
hummus color spread

and coating the edges.
Pointed, thrust into seeping
ink of violet cotton,

is the mountain, chalk
colored. It is beautiful ogre,
deceptively majestic.

It eyes a village
weaving native life.
Spines of which are wild

burnt-colored bones of the forest.
Its tangy scent, sweet to prey
that lure the lion, whose deep

yellow is the hue of this
indiansunset The sky now a crude
acrylic portrait.

The sugar- soft dirt
covered paths collect footprints.
Carved into a life.