When we returned, all we could do was stare. Our houses were splinters, nothing left we could recognize. The human names we had known were now a shiver of moonlight through which our memories swam like plankton in a dying sea. We were alive. That much we knew. [End Page 144]
Marilyn Nelson writes poems for all ages. She has won many prizes, including the Los Angeles Times Book Award, two Boston Globe–Horn Book awards, the Poets’ Prize, the Frost Medal, and was a three-time finalist for the National Book Award. In 2013, she was elected a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets.