the ancient cedar grows
on its dead mother. I have
a dead mother too, but
when I grew out of her, a
cord was cut. cedar has let
my human family sleep on
their dead. the forest knows
we are missing. our tent
is small. we are small, and
the whales are breathing.
we will paddle with them
tomorrow to the river to
meet salmon and bear. then
smaller than ever, we will
sleep on the dead again.
