Tribe

Darling?
why do I draw you with eyes on either side
of your head
and a broad nose that fills your face?
And where is your mouth?

I ponder this as I drive to my clay class
on the other side of town ...

A valid concern
as I ponder hand building a small body
and fret about her face.
I want her to carry a sword.
She does not have to have a face
of course
But I would like her to,
even if it is a suggestion of a face
and as I think about it
I realize I am making bird faces
and I wonder why.

Animals and plants have been
more people to me than people
all my life.
What people were in my world
when I was born?
Mom, Dad, JD (a shepherd puppy),
and Mickey (a black and white kitten).
Grandma, Grandpa, King (a long haired dog)
the geese,
kittens,
martins,
red-wing blackbirds,
barn swallows all around us
the crickets everywhere.
Mama cat and her kittens
the great blue heron,
a robin and her baby bird
grasshoppers
caterpillers and butterflies
and
Crows.
Wind.
Rain.
Snow.
And Trees.

Ah, trees
with their grey brown bark
branches reaching high
leaves whispering lullabies and
secret wisdoms.
In the evenings, they welcomed me
into their golden halo of sunset
as Daddy swung me higher and higher into orange-gold and red
as the sun melted into the river
settling into
rose-pink and purple and dusk into evening
and then
as the air cooled into night
and we went inside
I had my bath and then he and Mom would smoke
outside
before sleeping
I could hear their voices murmuring
under the television talking
something about folgers coffee
and palmolive dish detergent ...
fading
against the crickets–
if it was summer and the windows were open,
against the creaking of the house
if it was winter and it was storming–
as I fell asleep
both equally comforting
even now ...

Sometimes they’d have company
and the voices would be multiplied
and punctuated with laughter
and shouts
if they were playing cards
for victory and defeat
and more smoke than there should be
and I would try to stay awake
and listen:
my mom’s friends P_ and J_
and dad’s friends J_ and C_ and L_.
I could not always understand the words
but they spoke with animation and exclamation
how they planned to “save the world”
one of them said to me years and years
and years later
after mom and dad were both gone ...
arguing “why not this”
and
“why that”
the very things we kids would argue later
to so much consternation ...

History repeats.

And ice cubes clinked in glasses
dice rolled on the table
chair backs squeaked
and chair legs scraped across the floor
as the radio played
or records scratched round
classical music and jazz
billie holiday
louis armstrong
arethra franklin
and nina simone
gordon lightfoot
and cleo laine
my uncle phil and his band.

Where do eyes go?
It’s a fair question. At the moment,
I am content
to not have an answer.