We are all born within a familial stream of connection. It grows us and in turn we feed it. We live in give and take. That's basic human law, and man… - Joy Harjo

She exists in me now, just as I will and already do within my grandchildren. No one ever truly dies. The desires of our hearts make a path. We create legacy with our thoughts and dreams.

My mother was a songwriter and singer. She is William Blake’s “Little lamb, who made thee / Dost thou know who made thee?” and Alfred Lord Tennyson. She is the traditional Cherokee songs sung at her aunt’s funeral. She is the “Burning Ring of Fire” running away to Independence, Kansas, at sixteen. She is “Crazy” sung by Patsy Cline in a wake of heartache. That was my mother, singing, all those years. My mother’s gifts were trampled by economic necessity and emotional imprisonment.

I am a star falling from the night sky
I need you to catch me
I am a rainbow lifting from a dark cloud
I need you to see me