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Let me be ever more like the camas root.
So hard to let go.
Let me be rich inside
Smell of earth and water as it becomes clay;
Like soil in my hands.
Let me be more like we were
Before the people became people.
As changes occur
Show me the way to watch over
Care for others.
Let me feed the souls
Of those who are hungry.
With both eyes closed
Allow me to see more than those
With eyes wide open.
Before we were born
We were with
The Maker of All Things.
Let me be strong
Like one who can hold the legs of an eagle together,
Remove four tail feathers with the teeth.
Let me be more like a golden eagle
Than bald eagle,
Insistent upon taking prey
Rather than content
To feast with scavengers.
Let me remember to love
Even more than to fight.
Let me possess the gentle soul of a warrior
With the fierceness of the mother.
Let me be willing to dig through dung
To find the white stones that heal the sick.
Let me be ever more like the camas root,
So hard to let go of the earth.
© Melissa Fry Beasley
Melissa Fry Bealsey is a Cherokee Poet, Writer, Advocate, and Activist from Oklahoma. She is proud to have red dirt running through her veins. You can find her work in print and online. Visit Melissa's site, The Bee's Knees
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