First, the silver Indian bracelet
From the Ozarks where I
Found an arrow head
In the stones of a driveway
Leading to a little shop
Where I wanted zip.
My father corrected me
“It’s 7up.”
The little bracelet broke
And now it’s gone.
It had a turquoise stone
And a thunderbird with its head
Turned to the north.
Many years later in Panama
A Cuna Indian woman tied
A brown and white bracelet to
My wrist while she grinned.
The bracelet woven of little beads
In triangular patterns.
I bought it and then I lost it
In a Florida mall
When it untied itself.
What is this about really?
Losses? My lost father?
Lost Indian nations?
Childhood dreams and wishes?
Am I longing for the times
Before highways, high rises, when
The waters ran clear and cold?
Do I long for a time
I never knew?
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Before highways, high rises, when
The waters ran clear and cold?
Do I long for a time
I never knew?
Sometimes I do, Barbara. I find your verses thought-inciting. Thank you. Love and peace,
Regis
EDWIN