So that's one of my favorite poems from the Southeast
section.
Moses Jumper is a Seminole poet, and the Seminole Nation is--
I don't know-- about 30 miles from my home in Ada, Oklahoma.
So I pass by there when I'm home in the summers probably
twice a week.
And so the Southeastern section are
from poets in all the places I grew up with, mostly.
And I would like to read a poem by Lara Mann.
She's Choctaw.
And this is from page 416, and she's
writing about the Nanih Waiya cave, which
is a very sacred place in the land in along the Pearl
River in Mississippi.
So I'm just going to read from her poem.
"A very long time ago, the first creation of men
was in the Nanih Waiya.
And they were made there, and they came forth.
And the Choctaws came out in the Nanih Waiya.
And then they sunned themselves on the earthen rampart.
And when they got dry, they did not go anywhere
but settled down on this very land.
And it is the Choctaw home."
And that's by Isaac Pistonatubbee.
And so now I'll read her poem.
"A couple of miles down this iron-locked road
is a low cave in a large mound.
Dad throws rocks inside the gate.
We hear shallow water.
He crawls through the opening, flashlight in hand.
I am scared of underground places, can't follow.
There is room for four grown men to stand, he echoes.
I stay where I can see what's around me,
kudzu-draped trees, old growth in the shadows.
I can almost see what's inside, their stories.
But they're tight-lipped, and I take my leave--
take my lesson, sorry.
Picnic tables, grills, beer cans surround the mound.
Even though it's miles away from any town, no sign,
not on a map, just numbered country road,
I can see people still come here.
Dad crawls out, throws a burnt log onto the ground.
I want to go inside, shuffle, head down,
knees up into the entrance but can't go any farther.
Instead I grab a handful of wet cave, dirt wall, mossy green,
replace it with--
replace it with my hair.
I clutch this dirt gift, nails in palms,
head pulsing heat from pain.
This place he's taken me, this shadow world
requires both of us.
We had to come to our source.
Go in.
Come back out renewed.
But I'm not done with this past yet.
Can't end it and re-emerge.
My head is burning in shadows."
And for Choctaws, the Nanih Waiya
represents not only our birth mound, our mother mound,
but also the sacred place that Choctaws crawled up out
of and became people.
And that's the story we've been told for generations.