I was walking through the National Mall
thinking about medicinals and how they used to grow there
when the ground was a marshland, undisturbed by human hands,
and I heard their voices;
the sumac said, We are always here
the witch hazel – We are always here
the sassafras – We are always here
bluestem grasses – Always here.
I looked about, what did I see?
Medicinals growing around me rising from the gravel.
The sumac and the witch hazel, come to soothe our pain, our sores
come to soothe our troubles.
The sumac said, We are always here
the witch hazel – We are always here
the sassafras – We are always here
bluestem grasses – Always here.
But do you see that woman
sitting in the wheelchair
with her Redskins cap on backwards
and her plastic bags swinging –
from inside a paper wrapper
she sips from a bottle
a new painkiller
for the native people.
