I grew corn this year
From seeds given to me by a
Tuscaroran Indian named David.
I watched the sprouts
In a raised bed rectangle
Become full grown plants
Several feet tall.
I looked at this patch
Several times a day
Not having seen green so green,
Or as fresh and healthy.
It’s tassels finally peek out
From long, gently folded leaves
With such beauty I want to hug the stalks
And tell them that I love them.
This is my connection with Native America.

One day, wind blew the stalks askelter.
I propped them back up
Mounding soil at the base of each stalk.
They responded
Standing straight up once again.

I am these corn stalks
Growing back of the house.
I am bright, shining, green corn
Healthy and flourishing.
I am propped up and standing straight and tall again.
My heart is corn heart…
Bright, shining, green