Forty Years On

when I look at you

I see you

forty years from now

I see the sag of cheek

and jowl

your brown skin

toughened

by high desert sun

as creased and worn

as a brown paper sack

your shiny

black

hair

is white

tied at the back of your head

in a Navajo bun

 

I pretend that I am the one

that tied it there

 

I see your children

and their children

surrounding you with joy

and the laughter

I know

you will have given them

Dine’

Dine’

Dine’

carried over mountains and miles

a family wherever they are

 

I pretend that I am the one

that gave them to you

 

when I look at you

I see you

forty years from now

and next to you

I see me

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2 thoughts on “Forty Years On

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