INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Shutta Crum
Paul B. Roth
Laszlo Slomovits
Duane Locke
Felino Soriano
Chris Lord
Jerry Blanton
Carmen Firan
Amelia Makinano
Connie Stadler
Fred Wolven
Duane Locke
Tolu Ogunlesi
Running Cub
Joanie Freeman
Gerald Clark
Karyn M. Wolven
Holly Day
Dike Okoro
Fred Wolven
"[He] had the particularization of the image
and the perfection of form...."
--William Carlos Williams
1.
Yes, now sitting at this old wooden desk
looking out on Krome Avenue
I read
again
what the good doctor noted,
and now,
as before,
I watch the palm trees
their branches
swaying gently
in the warm fall breeze.
2.
In here
my view, my vision
of my world is distorted,
it is not as through
a child's eyes,
not even as I write of
my childhood,
recalling people,
in the midst
of games
games started
and games never complete.
3.
Last night
and this morning
I reread Running Cub's words,
his mentioning the lore of his fathers,
the legends of tribes, of families,
and I am reminded
the Chippewa grew up
not far from campus
living on scrub lands
existing on bare essentials
yet surviving
nonetheless.
4.
Why, as a youngster,
didn't I learn
when crossing
and re-crossing the stream,
tracking through
the woodlot,
learning the beauty of
a Queen Anne's Lace
tramping through fields,
the movements
of water creatures
in flowing streams
with the changing seasons,
the fullness and shape
of the moon?
5.
Where was my mentor,
where was my priceless guide,
a knowing uncle,
grandfather, father,
steeped in the ways
of survival
knowing
and possessing practices,
rites and ritual skill
designed to aid youngsters such as I
then
that now I would not flounder
would not stumble
nor fall so easily.
6.
Then, my river was close,
a nearer stream led into it;
now, I can follow a canal
leading me into the ocean.
Alligators people the waters,
snappers in near bayside,
family remain distant
except
for you
and daughters,
granddaughters
never any further
than a phone call
always closer than a letter.
7.
Function before form,
he said,
molding clay
as in summer camp,
shaping a tree limb,
some bark,
into a miniature canoe
into a spirit figure
carving
stretching,
connecting
reaching beyond
coming out
as from a sweat lodge
cleansed
thawed, pores opened
cells refreshed
blood circulating freely
using the waves
like connecting dots
my mind recalling
a small wheelbarrow
Buffalo Bill
and Paul Bunyan,
their stories,
then family lore
become nearly legend,
I am able to twist
having learned to walk
now that I can read.
8.
Thank you, doctor;
pizza is about to be delivered.
I think I'll add a salad;
Desert can wait.
Tomorrow there's time for the museum,
tonight we watch the sci fi movie
then sleep listening to Mozart.
Ah, where is my flute?
Please give me a drum.
Fred Wolven, South Florida