September 13, 2014 by Admin
By Lorraine Sonoda
Is this jar from Tule Lake, my birth place?
Chenille flowers with smallest seashells.
Mom, newlywed when forcibly removed, imprisoned in camp.
Mom gone now, I see her collecting shells from the dry lake bed.
Working the chenille to design the petals; attaching leaves;
making shell butterflies and flower buds
that she carefully arranges and anchors in the lid.
Bleaching, keeping the unbroken shells–
in this broken place where her spirit prevails.