I have been told that my grandfather
scattered the mark of his shield
over rock all through the back hills of Jumbum
and that no one could claim
my father as his people because
when he was small
he went to the river
and eighteen years later one of the cooks
told him he wasn’t born at the mission.
My mother’s people are from the Island.
Sometimes after waking I can still
hear her language at the end of my dreams.
At thirteen an old woman
named me for the heron who dances alone.
I danced and danced until I
went away to high school
and learned that a scholarship
wouldn’t get me Into crowded halls on Friday nights.
For the first time I did not know the steps.
It took me twenty-seven years to come back
and now I am from my mother’s island.
I have learned to dance again
I am Rachel, beloved of God
and I am the heron of this solitude.