wife and volunteer with sulky
smile and silky long black
hair – she couldn’t take the
culture shock and had to
leave the reservation, go back
home to Pennsylvania – our first
children born the same year,
she sent a colorful mobile
made of red satin hearts,
I might still have them

oh my gosh he’s still
there on the banks of
Omak Creek still married to
his Indian princess he’s settled
there one who was so
alienated at the mission
one with whom I sat one
winter night in Indiana on
the swings in smoking silence
now he has a home

first family at the bowling
lanes – he quite the gentleman,
she aggressive, smoky-voiced and
mean, principal at the Indian
school and didn’t take no
crap from kids (or staff)
with wild feathers up their
butts – this was Bill’n Hillary
stability Colville style, with an
exorcism or two as needed

you can’t go home again
(if that was home) as
I found out that winter
but you can enjoy the
hospitality of another’s home
(her mom’s) and get a glimpse
of something new to me:
a mother and daughter sitting
at the kitchen table having
a cigarette and catching up

her Tarot reading 1978 – those
two leopards guided me for
years, and now that she’s
moved from Shasta to
Vermont I am oh so tempted
to travel north to visit
and once again gain access
to her visionary giftedness,
maybe sit briefly under the shower
of her stars, photos, philosophy