Poem Sewn onto Fabric:
Foothills Healer
Make me of a quiet mind and steadfast heart.
Wake me before the sap rises in the pulp
and the buds spring forth, that I might sense
the first stem’s quiver in my marrow. Then will
I rise early and take to the woods. I will lift mine
eyes to these hills from whence comes my help.
Guide these, my hands, to the sassafras and burdock,
to the blue burvene, dogwood and wild cherry,
so too, to the roots of sarsaparilla and mayapple.
For the physicians here are few and far-between.
The roads, likewise, slow-going. And it falls
on us women-folk to see to it that our neighbors
and loved ones are looked after in times of need—
whether they be young or old, sick or dying,
or with child. We are the night watchmen.
It is we who keep the kerosene lamps.
Traci Rae Manos
Foothills Healer in English (pdf)
Foothills Healer in Spanish (pdf)
Foothills Healer in Hmong (pdf)
