the old cherokee

the old cherokee

A Poem by m.s.early
"

for my grandmother, alvia

"
Grandma guided the blade.
Her gnarled fingers curled the handle.
The great depression stationed her thumb
As the brown skin shed in a spiral strip.
"Don't peel away the potato."
Her voice broke a silence with 
What was passed down to her,
And her words dripped like pearls and bounced 
Around my sister looking curiously,
Cross legged below her apron strings,
Underfoot;
Watching grandma guide the knife,
Toying with the pearls 
And tucking them into her pockets.
I snapped beans and wondered where the old Cherokee went
To smell the rain,  
To hear the future in wind-song.
Grandma's Cherokee eyes made transparent walls;
Constantly keen to the baby's location
Moving in her sleep.
My mind wandered outside
Where the squirrels barked in the pines,
And crows walked on two feet
When I noticed grandma's Cherokee ears 
Perk as the baby sighed.
I was still learning 
To hear the things
That had never called to me,
Those things that had never wished to be heard,
To smell the rain before it came,
And watch the sky.
Grandma dropped the skins 
Into a brown paper bag
Feeling everything
Below her worn Cherokee skin
And her warm thin Cherokee smile.

© 2014 m.s.early


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Reviews

These pieces transport me through your soul. These are the words and sights, I hear and see as the horses are galloping down that valley....ever in a hurry to get to them before they disappear.

Posted 5 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is just bliss to read. Your pen is assured as the artist's brush, it brings life to the written word and this is a true privilege to read.

Those words 'don't peel away the potato,' remind me of the stories my grandma used to tell my sister and I about the rationing after the second world war. Four ounces of bacon or ham, one fresh egg a week, and vegetables and fruit so scarce that there was never enough. But she, like so many others, bore the hardships stoically and her stories of those times hold wisdom that I shall cherish always.

Thank you for sharing.

Beccy.

Posted 9 Years Ago


Xavier, this is a beautiful tribute to your grandmother. You captured her image, both mentally and physically perfectly and with great sensitivity. Awesome write!

Posted 9 Years Ago


Silver I can always count on you for some beautifully felt song in your words. It's as though you possess an alphabet in your soul and you bring them out for some breathing room. The line about the crows walking on two feet. I see it often here. There's a kind of rarity in a bird on foot, almost like a fairy tale. Thanks!

Posted 9 Years Ago


Very heart warming piece. I could see my chippewa grandmother Randall in the old woman's eyes. She would sit at the table for hours picking through wild rice or stringing beads.

Posted 9 Years Ago


This reminds me of my Great, Great grandma never meet her
but learned of her and stories she was Cherokee and Spanish
little 4'8 woman in height and a fireball and loving and sweet
very wise and aware woman.


I am Cherokee from my mother and father side of
the family and I look it very much so I loved this really touched
my heart was like my grandma was here but since there is Cherokee
in my great grandma I did see her when she was living she was a wild
grandma and little like this at times and I broke beans and pealed
ears of corn when I was little we ate fresh vegetables when I was little.



You took me back to my Cherokee Roots and being a child
thank you for this walk back into time I heard so many stories
about my G G Grandma her name was Alice Pearl I believe it was
Alice I know her middle name was pearl thought it was so beautiful.


Thank you for sharing this amazingly
written piece.


Blessings. Benita/ kindred poet

Posted 9 Years Ago


Really good. Not so much about a Cherokee, but so much about a human being.

Posted 9 Years Ago


love this. What we call Christianity or spiritual belief, to the Indian is an integral and
seemless part of their being. My grandmother, standing in her small kitchen in Georgia,
told me a story of a ghost that had invaded the underside of the house and had to be
removed my agressive uncles with broom handles and smoke. I mention this because
it is the spiritual that drives the culture (cant enable it but can prolong it) and what
your grandma was doing was passing her spiritual beliefs onto you in the only visceral way
she knew how.

wonderful story telling my friend.
just wonderful.

dana

Posted 9 Years Ago


One of five, a "Civilized Tribe", to anticipate a rhythm, a late night Stomp Dance helps the blood flow,and the gaps of a generation , Million Dollars Goldwater wanted to give all the living and wash the culture away, but your Grand mother let the pocket fill with pearls,Poker face, Dry lined humor, wit lived in dark eyed woman ,to let the red dust blow, bowl an fill a heart as you have is mortar for my heart.

Posted 9 Years Ago



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Shelved in 3 Libraries
Added on February 11, 2014
Last Updated on July 29, 2014

Author

m.s.early
m.s.early

VA



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"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep." -Salman Rushdie more..

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