Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Roots
I am not from here...
my hair smells of the wind
from the ocean,
and my blood carries
a savage nature
a Gift from my
Paint Tribe Grandfather.
The sun was my babysitter,
and I moved about the world
with a healthy laughter,
as my mother,
with moods of an opal,
instilled a curious freedom
that was harnessed gently
by my father's wisdom
and stoic integrity.
I grew up carefree
and hardworking,
using logs as my pulpits,
finding God in simplicity,
listening to the sermons of canaries,
and weaving chains of dandelions.
my hair smells of the wind
from the ocean,
and my blood carries
a savage nature
a Gift from my
Paint Tribe Grandfather.
The sun was my babysitter,
and I moved about the world
with a healthy laughter,
as my mother,
with moods of an opal,
instilled a curious freedom
that was harnessed gently
by my father's wisdom
and stoic integrity.
I grew up carefree
and hardworking,
using logs as my pulpits,
finding God in simplicity,
listening to the sermons of canaries,
and weaving chains of dandelions.
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