Dec 9, 2010


I See

A Native American child with
braids swinging behind her back
like weaved river’s cold water running
walking empty handed, in a land
that is not her own.
A culture lost lives in the lowest place.
She begs for acknowledgement
like a dog under the table with no name.
Dark skin and open eyes:
the opposite of your own.

Lost Time

Obsolete cassette tape:
Dated 1986 in black marker.
Laughter recorded by mistake,
Thanksgiving dinner conversation.
Snapshot of a suburban,
American family
in sound form.

My parents were still married.
My grandparents were still alive.

The tape holds onto a past
that has long left my fingers.
Grandpa gone in ‘93.
Grandma: this past February.
Mom and Dad parted even before
the following year’s dinner.
A family scattered like bits of sound.

The contents of the tape remain,
buried in a box in a garage somewhere
but the life is lost with time.