Eyes black as coal
from the land of those who came before.
Mountain folk
Strong. Brave. Authentic.
An element
of the very earth,
mined, and rare.
Beautiful, innocent, pure
a springtime sun spilling over the high ridges
gently pushing through branches
Their young leaves
soaking soaking soaking
the rays
and smiling greengold.
She is me. Looking back.
Another time. Another place.
A cell divided.
A poet
A daughter
My pride.
