Rambling around Sweet Briar College

Bamboo cloaks the oaks

bordering the roads.

Southwest Virginia jungle?

Red brick white white trim

buildings, neoclassic style

set on well-mown lawns.

No signs needed to

identify this place

as a college campus.

All the books in the bookstore

seem to be arranged

by the color of the spines.

Red shelf, black shelf,

white shelf. Mystery rubs up

next to history which cuddles

up with theology and travel

guides. There might be poetry

somewhere, I didn’t

see any but the volumes

are usually much slimmer

than thick biographies.

Perhaps this reflects

human knowledge

more accurately than

alphabetical by subject,

field, and author. Nearby:

a shelf of red and white

Campbell’s soup cans. And ramen.

I saw a female cardinal, and

a wisteria in full purple bloom.

One slave cabin remains.

This was once a plantation

before it became a college

Where women lead.

A place of reconciliation,

beds of iris, Virginia woods.

Canyon de Chelly

The junipered plateau

goes from the windshield

to the horizon…

No hint until

the sudden

brink.

The sandstone-walled

abyss

carved by Chinle Wash.

Cottonwoods crowd

the temporary flow

before the water sinks

beneath the sand

and the corn and beans,

squash and melons,

can begin to

grow

and prayers are made

in spring for summer rain

that may or may not

come

to infiltrate the roots

of the farmers’

canyon summer plots.

the walls still bear

the pictographs

left by the cliff dwellers,

then the Hopi,

then the most recent

summer farmers, the Diné         .

Images of antelope and deer,

the horses of the Spanish expedition

in 1805, who massacred

115 women, children, elderly,

hiding in a cave.

The men were away,

hunting in the mountains.

Now the guides take us

through the water, the sand,

under the cottonwoods

with offroad vehicles.

We marvel:

at the canyon walls

the cliff dwelling ruins,

The high formation

known as Navajo Fortress

where a thousand Diné

spent the winter of 1863.

The US Army, led by Kit Carson

was trying to remove the people from

the canyon but his men

couldn’t scale the cliffs.

So they waited until summer

and the surrender of the people.

The Diné who were captured,

were force marched to Fort Sumner

400 miles away in New Mexico

where they were prisoners for several years

3,000 of the 8,000 who were sent there,

died.

In 1868 the survivors were allowed

to return to their homelands.

The Diné call this The Long Walk.

And they are still there

with their summer plots and livestock,

their Jeeps and Blazers,

and 

their stories.

You said that you forgot

You said that you forgot

to answer the question

on your profile

about smoking.

When we stepped out

of the bar you asked me

if I really was a social smoker

who was trying to quit.

I said yes. Then you said

you smoked too, you just

somehow missed or forgot

to answer that question

and could we walk to your

car to fetch your cigs?

I suppose that should

have been a sign

of the other things

you forgot to tell me.

That you had a brother

whose existence was never

mentioned until he was in a coma

when the tumor in his throat

nearly asphyxiated him.

And now we were all

gathered at the hospital

deciding when to turn off

the life support machines.

His hands were still warm

and you cried.

Did you forget to tell me

until another couple of years

had passed that you had

given up a daughter

when you were seventeen

but had found her

when she was twenty one?

You didn’t tell me

you were having trouble

with numbers and that

sleeping all day for a week

wasn’t just jet lag.

Did you forget to tell me

goodnight and that you

loved me the night before

you died as the sun rose?

Your hands were still warm,

but you forgot to breathe, didn’t you?

I said goodbye, but I don’t think

you heard me in this world.

I lay beside you as you cooled

and I cried until the coroner

came and did their customary duty.

Night songs

 The mockingbird

across the street

paused his rendition

of a Pontiac car alarm.

The midsummer asphalt

under my bare feet

still held the warmth

of afternoon.

I blew a smoke ring

at the moon.

The mockingbird

resumed his pitch

hoping to impress

a ladybird. This time

he did a barking

Chihuahua and

something inspired

by church bells.

The coyote pack

up the hill replied

with yips and yaps.

I waited eagerly,

hoping to hear one of their

famous lunar songs.

Whatever it was

that they discussed

was soon settled

as the gibbous moon set

I finished my smoke

and went back to my room

maybe cool enough

now to sleep.