I went into the amethyst
and asked the Great Spirit
to help me
understand
the wound in my solar plexus.
Was it a cut cord? Or something
to which I was tethered.
I had made a man
my god again.
I asked the citrine
and the guide who calls me
moon child said quietly,
I must do a ceremony
for the women.
The sisters and myself
before everyone else
each morning.
Her name is Gray Smoke.
She is older than my
grandmother.
There are things I am not.
I am not the keeper of the plants
you might see from this
money tree.
I could be the keeper of the stones.
My brother's lesson
is green.
That was enough, she said,
for now. Then I saw reds,
and an explosion of a soft sky
moving clouds.
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