The Last Seminole

The Last Seminole

There were 10,000 islands
and I'd lost my soul
to the shadow of the mangrove.

She held her children at arms length,
fed them my reflection -
built them pedestals from mud
and my silent presence.

Above salt water, I hid
in secret rooms with alligators,
piling a mound for worship,

praying how to tell you

I died, sun-blind and alone
on the oyster shell steps of my own design,
a single soul devoured
in the shadow of the mangrove.


Erin Monahan@Poetic Acceptance
Poetry