The basket’s under glass surrounded by
security and lights and other works
produced by primitive Americans.
It’s bottom, tight enough for acorn mush,
flares out into a willow filigree,
a lazy-squaw stitch making up the sides;
and red bud strips are woven at the top
to form a geometrical design.
The gallery is carpeted in gray;
the walls are egg shell white. Ladies dressed
from Nordstroms quietly converse about
proportion, color, line, simplicity.
Helicopters with their booms extended
spray the marsh and river for mosquitoes.
The women take the year old willow wands
and split them with their teeth in perfect thirds
and try to teach their daughters how to weave
traditional designs with shaking hands.