Saturday, May 23, 2015

Her Heritage – v2

A piece of her past
conjured up in the haze
of the burning sage;
The haunting sounds
of the wolf, the owl, the flute
the tune on the wind in
the recording.

I watched her eyes,
her features soften,
transformed into
connected to
a long dead ancestor.

An Indian of these shores,
high cheekbones, noble race,
one of her strands, the threads
of her history, not a constant in
her mind; but there to see it
as she sat at the table, transfixed
by the curls of smoke, rising
toward the ceiling.

Being one with the spirits,
the energy of her native past;
Calling her with smell and sound,
grounding her in the wisdom,
the truth in this earth.

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edited May 23, 2015
Her Heritage – v2

September 27, 2006 16:49
Her Heritage

All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 37,710+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.

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