Why do moccasins always fit me?

Why does this buckskin dress

Feel so right upon my naked skin?

Why can I dance in these

Like no one is watching,

And like I'm not wearing anything?

An invisible person lives in me

From an invisible tribe,

A forgotten name,

A family forsaken, 

By even the Cherokee,

A heritage denied

Three times like Jesus,

And never spoken again or claimed.

But I seek restitution for you, Grandfather.

I tie the turtle shells upon my feet

And chant and call your name!

And if no one else in the family will claim to understand

The awful time of war that brought you down,

I do.

I clamor to identify with the big shoes,

The big moccasins you wore,

And I claim you as a part of me,

My ancestry incomplete 

And lacking without you.

-jenn