Memory Ball – Poem

Used by Yakima Tribeswomen

I like small and simple –

a shell, a bead, a knot.

This moon snail is the first inch of peony

stalk, pushing through the soil, this black bead

is the father I wanted to love, who would become

attached to a bed and a bedpan,

this knot is for the one I tied with you.

The string keeps winding,

the hemp ball growing.

It will be enormous, much bigger

than the rubber band balls ever were.

I haven't decided if I want you to know

these bits of memory. The dog head triton is,

‘I will always love you,’ from the man who's now

a Facebook friend, the blue bead is the mural

of the homeless teen who holds a tiny house

in his palm, another knot is the little girl who walks

looking down to read her ‘bookie’. Should

I tell you, or someone younger, to be alive longer,

should I keep it as my secret pleasure –

each shell, each bead, each knot?