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.