RACIAL MEMORY
—for Duane BigEagle
A lover seeking racial memory
struggling with my blouse
prefers the old way of skins
Fox, rabbit, coyote, buffalo.
We hide too much from the elements
remembering other paths.
The feet never forget the scars
they leave on the earth.
He reaches for the breast in greeting,
concealing a weapon in his hand.
The first kiss, even between old lovers
is cautious, not passionate.
A hearthstone, the fire.
On this hillside, this grass,
where are
the men coming to terms with the earth
spilling nothing more than seed?
Spring 1987
Petaluma
1990 Poetry USA
1988 Women's Voices
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