IF YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

To answer my question

An Indigenous teacher

Once told me

If you know who you are

You will never be lonely

I didn’t understand

 

White, I grew up

In bland, blanched suburbia

Moved to

A small, rural town

We people were the entertainment

The gravitas

Friends

Porch sitting hours

Moved to

A hip, slick, cultured, sophisticated, city of universities

America’s Athens

Loneliness, assimilation, knowledge, alienation from self

Moved to

A wealthy, beach retirement town

Boredom, self-discovery, self-recovery

Toured foreign countries

Europe and the roots of Western Civilization

Meso-America, Maya

Tropical Island

 

I am

Wherever I go

I understand

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Moments that Make Us Who We Are

I remember that electric slow dance
As I do our trips together
Moments I remember that make us who we are:
Your anger when I left you while I explored Chichen-Itza
The mystic glowing lake we paddled on together that Puerto Rico night
All those airplanes landing in the midnight sky over Miami as we drove home from Key West
Looking up at the base and down from the cliff at Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump
Family, and the luxury resort at Saint Lucia
These are moments that make us who we are
Family dinners on holidays
My growing intelligence as I talk with you
The splash cymbal in the Blind Faith song our finger punctuates, listening to my iPod on the road
Sunday lunches out after I preach
Talk late at night
These are moments that make us what we are

Saint Lucia (An Epic)

Over the next 5 days I will be posting:

Saint Lucia

(An Epic)

It is an extended poem in 5 sections, about my first visit to Saint Lucia.  To make the post manageable, I will not post the whole poem at once, but will do it one section a day.  This day’s post is the departure and trip to Saint Lucia.

Saint lucia

(An Epic)

I

Departure

Home and the family farm

And the departure and the road and travel and time

Anticipation and passing time

Music and the road and a little writing

Travelling and time

And music in the truck and a little talking and a nap

Time and travelling

The overnight hotel by the airport

The swimming pool after dinner

Reclining in our room before sleeping

 

Fire in the control tower

And we waited for the plane’s push-back

Take-off delayed an hour

And boredom and anticipation

And sitting 37,000 feet above the Atlantic

And time and iPod headphones

An hour, hours, another hour

Two ours left “Time’s going fast,” Carol said

And strains of Bach’s Cello Suite #6

And a little writing

Half nodding off and nodding off

Landing, immigration, customs

A new world, tropical

Saint Lucia