When my hair was short, I tied black br Grasshoppers with cord and threw br Them into the water. br Black ants issued from the knotted oak br Limb that I straddled, and I br Thumped them off my legs and arms. br Whirling hands of fog gripped my feet br Then skittered over jagged ripples. br Soon I could see white morning birds br Skim among clumps of rushes, br And a heavy, bright heat glanced to br My face. br Squeals of naked, dusty children and br Squabbling puppies announced footsteps br To my mother. I brought a thong of garfish, br A bag of gray clams, and palmetto seeds. br Nibbling a seasoned clam, and with the br Smoke of oak logs still clinging to my hair, br I left her door. br br After the salt traders had turned north, I sat br With my father before a dirt mound. br Great swamp owls grew silent. By evening br No eyes met mine over the fire. br Shrieks of high, dark birds struck the bark of br Huge trees...rain chilled. I bid farewell to my br Father under a low, gray sky. br br When I admitted a withered oak to be a br Childhood friend, my grandsons shot geese br From windy skyways and knew the way of br Deer. br As shadows rustled, I sat by a fire and ate br Roasted acorns; my grandsons' eyes br Sleepless with an old man's words... br How great up-rooting winds chased marsh br Animals to our land, how we shared the mounds br With them-our trails vanished... br How we brought our women and dogs from br Black earth to dawn-red hills near a great river... br Under the stillness of pines, my sons saw- br Floating towards the marshes in strange br Houses-men with hands the color of morning birds. br Now as trees whisper green, our people br Become shadows on the western grass. br br br Winner of College Writers Society Contest.