Red clay I’m made of
runs deep like a vein
holds fast to my footprint
marks well where I’ve been
Pulls out the poison
and carries the pain
back to the soil
from which we all came
Stiffens the break
like plaster applied
shaped by the hands
hard as stone when i’m dry
Mixed with straw twixt
stones and sticks
pressed and daubed
a house or a chimney
the breath of me draws
My sister is yellow
my brother is grey
my mother magenta
in layers we display
The flesh of the earth
compressed over ages
red clay runs deep in these
letters on pages
~ w/ gratitude to L. Lewis
Lions Mane 
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