Thursday, August 4, 2005

The Last Seminole

The Last Seminole

There were 10,000 islands
and I'd lost my soul
to the shadow of the mangrove.

She held her children at arms length,
fed them my reflection -
built them pedestals from mud
and my silent presence.

Above salt water, I hid
in secret rooms with alligators,
piling a mound for worship,

praying how to tell you

I died, sun-blind and alone
on the oyster shell steps of my own design,
a single soul devoured
in the shadow of the mangrove.


  1. Erin, this is beautiful. I really like the repetition of the mangrove line. It ties it all together.

  2. darkly whimsical. so many good sprigs of imagery in here - adjectives intricately woven 'round nouns and phrases made of dreamthread - especially 'fed them my reflection' and 'died, sun-blind and alone', which also offers up a sacrifice befitting to the gods of internal rhyme.

  3. now, why couldn't I say something like that? ditto

  4. Thanks guys! I wish I'd have written this BEFORE I submitted to the Tigettails Anthology though - it would have gone wonderfully into their theme and location. Oh well.