Ancestors
I see shadows
whisper to me from the corners of walls,
women’s voices sharing secrets
of ages past.
My ages past
as I am a shadow to them
my ancestors.
I am echo of a pungent past.
The Baby*
A home spun baby I be,
dropped from old yellow
man moon
on a warm winter’s day,
I came in the worldly way.
My breath carries spring time,
my laugh
summer’s ripened fruit,
my hair the falling of the leaves.
I am winter’s child too.
An ordinary baby,
I be,
miracle of worlds.
*Pink Chameleon, Issue 6