there is a place where plants will not grow

in my grandmother’s homelands
where the soldiers camped
as they tried to forcibly remove us from our home.

but, our ancestors climbed
into the belly of our mother.
hidden in the hills, we survived by refusing to let go

of what we hold sacred.
our connection to the land.
this is where our community stands today. still,

there is a place where plants will not grow
in my grandmother’s homelands.
the soldiers left behind fingerprints –

where does mother earth’s pain
and grief reside? and where do we,
as human beings carry this pain?

our grandmothers say,
mother earth knows you
every time you step outside.

we are not alone in our suffering.
our grandmothers, along with many
native women were sterilized in the 1970s,

systemic erasure through removal of wombs.
seeds no longer allowed to blossom and bloom.
what echoes of erasure remain mapped onto the body?

in my grandmother’s homelands,
i bled for fourteen days, afraid of what would not grow.
these days all i hear are ghosts telling me

this pain is not new. i am not alone
in this suffering. the earth holds us up.
the connection is ceremony is prayer is release.

allow yourself to be held,
spirit-deep especially in the places
where plants will not grow.