Poems  From Tuscarora
Seeing Red


Stare straight ahead,

tire tracks on the county road

gray as gunmetal.


Glance in the rear view mirror,

the neighbor’s hayfield a

suicidal yellow.


Without looking, I know

your white knuckles

on the steering wheel want

to be around my throat.


You know the blood-colored

willows choking the creek?

Finally I see--

No red is the same.


I thank you for that.

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“…when something stops  your mind, catch that  moment … of big space, that  moment of bewilderment,  that  moment of total  astonishment, and let yourself  rest  in  it a little longer  than you ordinarily might.”  from  Start Where  You Are by Pema Chodron

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