Poems  From Tuscarora
Go Back


There’s a place I remember as clear

as if I held the photo in this old hand.

I see the dip and rise of sage-covered hills,

a willow bank, chokecherry and wild rose

blowing sweetness into the morning breeze.


I know what you’ll say.

We don’t learn who we are in a day.

And yet—it is a day and place that stays—

when  I knew I could hold the herd

in an easy way.


When I consider where I have been

and how far I have strayed,

I would give anything to go back

and see if I know that younger me.

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If I don’t know where I was,

how can I get back there?

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