She worries beads

through bead she has swelled

through thread she is held

through needle she is steadfast

pressed, grip-polished words more than once

against her sacred heart

the beads she worries through, now

are smooth black river stones

water-worried

each bead-berry clasped

to the next seed in prayer

Miyo Saint Anne —

a bead for every morning

of her thread pulling through

napew, awasis, maskihkiy

hides, needles, awls, shawls,

beads, seeds trail her

black seeds strung in rosaries

hung above her bed

in sleep she worries through them