Indian Museum, by Janice Townley Moore
Janice Townley Moore
INDIAN MUSEUM
Living on the site of Fort Hembree,
we hear the moan of wind
circling our house.
We show guests the greenest spot
on the lawn where the sunken well
now yields a weeping cherry.
Our son finds stones in the garden,
declaring them arrowheads,
and disks of granite
where he says Indians once ground corn.
Today he brings for my belief
two jagged triangles, says
This little Indian was just starting
to make arrowheads
and that’s as good as he could carve.
These with a dozen tomahawk heads
smoothed by the creek
line our carport for all to admire.
We bruise our toes upon them in the dark.
Janice, I enjoyed your poem very much.
Glenda Barrett
November 27, 2012 at 11:26 pm
Beautifully rendered last line. Says more than much. Takes us down many trails, Janice.
Maren O. Mitchell
November 28, 2012 at 3:31 am
Janice,
This is one of my favorite poems. I like the history about Ft. Hembree.
Brenda Kay Ledford
November 28, 2012 at 8:07 pm
A deeply moving poem. Reading it, I felt a knocking at the door of my belief, too.
Marsha Mathews
January 18, 2013 at 3:51 pm