The Spruce Root Basket Weaver Considers Her Impending Ornamentation
For clan sister/cousin Teri Rofkar, Cháas’ Kaawoo Tláa (1956-2016)
"I get to carry the culture for a little while, and then I'll hand it off." ~Teri Rofkar
Tree roots lengthen through summer, sunlight scatters
light across bark. Raindrops drip from branches,
pitch globs ooze down the spruce tree’s back,
and pine needles fall to forest floor.
I am unsurprised by its years, the pungent flesh,
bruised red bark chipped and torn with age.
Many generations have passed this tree alongside the trail,
meditating on a warm woodstove fire,
or the bones of a new cabin roof. But I long to weave
the length of my fading shadow into its roots,
and have considered the scattering of me beneath
this warming soil, till my apprentice’s digging stick
pulls my dust from dirt. I think of those roots softening,
braided strands of coiled weft and warp,
imagine her weaving me into a drinking cup,
or perhaps a basket with a rattling lid—
maybe something useful. Perhaps the new weaver
will transform root into strands to weave
a spruce root dance hat with a flat top like the tallest
wild celery. My dusting will be a residue
plaited on ancient patterns like the raven’s hood
and a hair seal’s ribs.
VIVIAN FAITH PRESCOTT was born and raised on the small island of Wrangell, Alaska, Kaachxana.áak’w, in Southeast Alaska on the land of the Shtax’heen Kwáan. Read more.